Musical Chairs
by mmmspike
Summary: **COMPLETE (with epilogue)!**Season 4 AU fic; Spike's still tied up in the chair and Buffy is stuck vamp-sitting. Sweet, Spuffy fluff. Please, read and review for more.
1. Vampsitter

Disclaimers: Not mine, Joss and co. own it.  
  
Spoilers: Only for season 4, as if that matters.  
  
Author's Note: Yippee, look, it's my first non-angsty, non season seven fiction! I've wanted to write a fluffy Spuffy fic for a while now; but have really been focusing on the angst lately. This is an AU (alternate universe) fiction set in season four when Spike was still chipped and living at Giles' place. If you want some fluffy goodness, read on! Oh, and review if you want more.  
  
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Buffy watched as Giles cleaned his glasses on his shirt, wondering how many times he'd done that in the past fifteen minutes. Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Or had he been wiping them ever since he's starting talking? Giles babbled on about responsibilities and whatnot and Buffy rolled her eyes, grumbling.  
  
"Giles!"  
  
He looked up at her, startled, and momentarily stopped cleaning his glasses.  
  
"Could you just get to the point, already? You know, time is money?"  
  
"Ah, yes, well . . ." he paused, taking a deep breath and gathering his strength. "There's a friend in town, and I have intended on . . . visiting with her this evening."  
  
Buffy sighed. "Giles, I'm not your mother. If you want to go out and have a good time, fine by me. I don't see why you couldn't just tell me this on the phone."  
  
"That's not all. I need you to . . . watch Spike for me."  
  
Buffy groaned, sticking her lip out in a pouty, child-like manner.  
  
"Giiiiiiles," she whined, crossing her arms over her chest angrily, "You said you wouldn't need me to do anything tonight . . . I was going to go to a party. You know, have a social life? Slayers need nights off, too. Besides, he's all tied up! He can't go anywhere."  
  
She looked up at him hopefully and, realizing that he wouldn't budge, decided to go another route.  
  
"Why can't Willow or Xander vamp-sit?"  
  
"I attempted to get in touch with Willow, but she was out, and Xander wanted to spend some . . . quality time with Anya tonight. Oh, but on the bright side, he'll be able to take over your Spike duties after he's . . . finished."  
  
Buffy pouted again, furrowing her brow. 'It won't be too bad, I guess. I mean, we haven't been fighting lately and it's not like I'll have to spend time with him or anything. Just spend a quiet night in front of the television.'  
  
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Spike grinned, his lips parting wide, his teeth gleaming like those of some kind of maniacal Cheshire cat. Buffy stood next to him, holding the cup of pig's blood in one hand and the TV remote in the other. She moved the straw up to his mouth and he started to drink, vamping out and sucking the sticky red fluid from the novelty mug. Buffy was channel surfing, flipping from one lousy program to the next and trying to ignore Spike. She chanced a quick glance over at him, and shuddered at the sight of the blood he was drinking. Spike caught her queasy expression on her face and dropped the straw from his mouth.  
  
"I thought you'd gotten over this. Look, I'm a vampire. I drink blood. I can't get it out of you lot anymore, so I have to drink this sub-par crap. You think that seeing me drink pigs' blood out of a cup is nasty? You oughta see me drain a victim."  
  
Buffy glared at Spike, taking the mug away from him.  
  
"I think you've had enough."  
  
Spike scowled, his stomach starting to rumble. He was still hungry; he hadn't even finished half of the cup. "Hey, stop, there's a lot of good blood left!"  
  
Buffy smirked at him, setting the mug on the coffee table. "I thought it was 'sub-par crap'."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm hungry, and I kind of don't have a choice; it's that or nothing."  
  
A devilish expression came across his face. "Unless, of course, you're willing to give me some of your blood."  
  
Buffy gave a contemptuous snort, although she did inch away from him a little. "Yeah, like that'll happen in a million years."  
  
Spike grinned wider, hopping in his chair, making it bounce over towards her. "C'mon, Slayer . . . just a little taste."  
  
She moved farther away, a small smile playing on her lips. "Over my dead body."  
  
"Yeah, that was the plan."  
  
He continued to move towards Buffy, bouncing faster so he could catch up with her.  
  
"I promise, I'll be gentle! It won't hurt . . . me."  
  
Buffy laughed softly and moved away from the rapidly approaching chair. She made a mad dash over to the foot of the stairs, and then waited for him to catch up. He bounced over to her, panting unnecessarily. She walked up the first few stairs and Spike attempted to follow, but managed to only make it up the first step, finding that the back legs of the chair were still on the landing. Buffy continued up the stairs, grinning at her victory and at the idea of leaving Spike in that awkward, tilty position. He looked up at her frantically, not wanting to be left like this.  
  
"Hey! Come back! I was just kidding, I won't bite you . . . unless you want me to." He added under his breath.  
  
Buffy stopped halfway up the steps, paused, then came back down again. "What was that?"  
  
Spike looked at her with innocent, doe-like eyes. "What was what, luv?"  
  
"I thought I heard you say . . ." She stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind. -I'm- going to go downstairs to watch some TV."  
  
Buffy made her way down to the living room and, never breaking her stride, placed one finger on Spike's nose and pushed. His eyes grew wide as the chair tipped backwards, landing with a loud 'thunk!' on the floor.  
  
"Ow! Bloody hell."  
  
Spike could hear Buffy giggling from the next room. He loved the sound of her laughter; sweet and intoxicating . . . he shook his head, frowning. 'I can't think of things like that, she's the SLAYER, for crying out loud! I'm not her friend, I'm a vampire that happens to be living in her Watcher's house, and she's only here to make sure I don't escape. Besides . . . she'd never think about me that way.'  
  
Spike lay on the floor, his head throbbing from where it'd hit the back of the chair. "You know, Slayer, I think I might've cracked my head from that fall. I could bloody well sue."  
  
"Yeah Spike, sure." Buffy called from the next room. "What're you going to do, represent yourself in court. I can see it now . . . 'So what if I tried to kill her and her friends a dozen times, she tied me up in a chair! -And- she tipped me over - I call for the death penalty!'"  
  
He chuckled softly. "No, Slayer, I would get myself a lawyer."  
  
She snorted mockingly. "What, a human? Please, like they would touch you with a ten-foot pole! Besides, the bleached hair and the all black clothing? Doesn't really scream 'innocent'."  
  
"I figure since vamps and lawyers are so alike - being bloodsucking fiends and all - that we'd get along just fine. Besides, didn't say I'd wear the leather."  
  
Buffy giggled, getting a mental picture of Spike in formal, black suit. 'Ladies and gentlemen, the new James Bond!' She laughed even harder at the thought of this, as Spike craned his neck, trying to see what was she was giggling at.  
  
"What's so soddin' funny?"  
  
"Nothing . . . James." She tried to hold it in but failed miserably, laughing like a madwoman.  
  
Spike shook his head and smiled lightly. 'Women.' Once she had quieted down, he cleared his throat.  
  
"Um . . . Slayer?"  
  
"What is it now, Spike?"  
  
"Err, can you get me off of the floor? I don't want the Wh - um, Xander, finding me like this. I don't trust him not to . . . use my vulnerable state to his advantage."  
  
Buffy sighed, picking herself up off the couch and moving over to the fallen vamp. He looked so helpless that she found herself smiling.  
  
"What, is the Big Bad afraid of little ol' Xander?"  
  
He glared up at the ceiling, sending mental daggers to Buffy. "Afraid? Hell no! But that poncy bugger's always had it in for me, and I don't . . ."  
  
"Spike!" She got on all fours and leaned over so that he could see her face. "I'll pick you up, okay? Just stop talking."  
  
Buffy grasped the back of the chair with both hands, lifting it off the floor. She pretended to strain against the weight, grunting. "Ugh, Spike, you're so heavy," she teased.  
  
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What's this, then?"  
  
She hoisted the chair up and turned it about so that she was facing Spike.  
  
"I'm serious, you -do- have it too comfortable around here. Lying in that chair all day, watching TV . . . I think you're getting a blood belly."  
  
Spike's eyes widened comically. "What? No I'm not!"  
  
He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing his stomach. He ran his hand over its taut surface and was relieved to find that it was in its normal, toned state.  
  
Buffy's breath caught in her throat. 'Who knew that Spike was so . . . built?'  
  
She slapped herself mentally, trying to rid her mind of the naughty, wicked thoughts she was having. 'No, I can't, I mean, um . . . wow, he must really work out.'  
  
" - so you'd better know . . . Buffy!"  
  
The sound of Spike's voice snapped her back to reality. "Muh? I mean, what?"  
  
"As I was -saying-, the next time you go around making serious accusations like that, you'd better know the facts!"  
  
Buffy blushed, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. "Yeah . . . facts . . ."  
  
She turned and started towards the living room and back to the soft, warm couch.  
  
"Slayer!"  
  
She groaned and spun on her heels. "What is it now, Spike?" she asked, obviously frustrated.  
  
He grinned at her sheepishly. "I can't see the telly from over here."  
  
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TBC . . . 


	2. Passions

Disclaimers: Not mine, darn it.  
  
Spoilers: Um, through season 4. Why do I even bother warning people?  
  
Rating: It goes up to a PG-13 here . . . read it and you'll know why.  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for all of the nice feedback, it's really appreciated. Makes me feel all warm and tingly inside (in a non-perverted way). You've inspired me to write, so here you go . . . more Spuffy.  
  
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"Are you happy now?"  
  
Buffy's hands were planted firmly on her hips in a frustrated manner, her fingers aching from dragging Spike's chair around the room for the past few minutes. He smiled, contented with his spot next to the sofa. Spike would have been able to see the TV just fine in some of the other places she had put him, but he had enjoyed watching her struggle with the chair.  
  
"I guess it'll have to do . . . but I could have a better view if you just untied me. You wouldn't even have to move me around."  
  
Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "But Spike, I thought you got a kick out of bondage."  
  
"Depends on who's tyin' up who, luv."  
  
She blushed, embarrassed, and sat down on the sofa. She grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels again. Spike squinted; trying to make out the programs Buffy was passing.  
  
"Argh, Slayer, you're goin' too bloody fast! Probably going to go into seizures from all of the flashing lights."  
  
"Fine, why don't you pick a show?" She grinned. "Oh, wait, you can't."  
  
"Please, just choose a soddin' program! Really, I don't care what it is, just stop!"  
  
Buffy decided to stop on the next channel, hoping that something really bad would be on; an infomercial for hair removal cream, perhaps. Her hand stilled on the remote. Buffy's eyes flicked up to the screen, widening at what she saw.  
  
The woman moaned, arching her back and digging into the mattress. The man's muscular body pressed into hers, causing both of them to groan in pleasure.  
  
A rosy blush crept up to Buffy's cheeks. 'Porn. This is porn. Oh my God, Giles gets the Spice channel!' Buffy fumbled for the remote, desperate to turn to something more . . . appropriate. It slipped out of her grasp, however, the back popping open and the batteries falling out. She looked down and saw that they had rolled under the sofa. Perfect.  
  
Spike grinned widely. "So this is what you were looking for! Always figured you were the kinky type."  
  
Buffy got on all fours and stuck her hand under the couch, reaching for the lost batteries, trying desperately to ignore the sounds coming from the television behind her.  
  
"Oooooooooooohhhh!"  
  
The woman moaned rather loudly, and Buffy cringed. She didn't have to look up at Spike's face to know that he was loving this. She managed to find one battery, and stuck it into the empty slot. The second battery, however, wasn't under the sofa at all. Sighing, Buffy got to her feet.  
  
"Spike, have you seen the other battery?"  
  
"The battery for what, Slayer? Your vibrat -"  
  
"Don't even think it!" Buffy blushed even harder, her cheeks a deep red. "The battery for the remote control. It's on the floor somewhere."  
  
She searched the floor, scanning it with her eyes. Buffy looked around for a few minutes, sighing loudly. "Where the hell is it?"  
  
Spike looked over at her with innocent eyes. "Wait, is this what you're looking for?"  
  
He gave his foot a small kick and a battery rolled out from under his boot. Buffy glared at him, picking it up and shoving it into the remote, quickly flipping to a different channel.  
  
"That wasn't funny."  
  
"You're right . . . it was hilarious! You should've seen the look on your face . . ."  
  
"I'm warning you, Spike, the next time you try something like that -"  
  
"Wait, be quiet, 'Passions' is on!"  
  
Buffy looked up at the vampire and saw he was transfixed by what was on the screen. She gave a small sigh of relief, sitting back down on the sofa. Hopefully he would decide to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night.  
  
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He didn't.  
  
"I'm feelin' a bit peckish. Could you get me a cup of blood?"  
  
"I've already fed you for tonight."  
  
"No, you took away my dinner before I finished. I'm a guest, treat me as one."  
  
Buffy smiled, reaching for the mug on the coffee table. She had forgotten to clean it out. "Fine, Spike, you can have the rest of the blood."  
  
She brought it up to his face and he grimaced in disgust, turning his face away from it. "Ugh! It's cold and partially-coagulated!"  
  
"What, now it's not good enough for you? Geez, give a guy what he wants . . ."  
  
"Forget it." He sat back in his chair, glaring at the wall, giving her the silent treatment. Buffy sighed, turning the channel, seeing if Spike would react. He sat in the exact same position, ignoring her. She got up and went to the kitchen, fixing herself something to eat. Returning to the living room, she saw Spike looking over at her expectantly.  
  
She set the chocolate chip cookies she had gotten for herself on the table, and brought the fresh blood to Spike's mouth wordlessly, bringing the straw up to his lips. He grinned, sucking up the liquid nourishment.  
  
'She's such a softie.'  
  
Buffy returned to 'Passions', watching Spike from the corner of her eye. He finished his blood quickly, releasing the straw. He looked over at Buffy, clearing his throat. She sighed, turning to him.  
  
"What now? Too hot? Too cold? Too bland?"  
  
He looked over at her with genuine gratitude. "Thanks."  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	3. Gratitude

Disclaimers: This isn't mine. Sniffle . . .  
  
Spoilers: Screw it. No one cares.  
  
Summary: More Spuffyliciousness. Not a word, but it works.  
  
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Buffy sat on the sofa, staring at Spike. She was startled, to say the least. 'Did Spike just thank me for something? Maybe he was being sarcastic.' She blinked and examined his facial expression. 'He doesn't -look- like he's being sarcastic. He looks . . . grateful or something.'  
  
Spike was looking at her now, one eyebrow raised quizzically. 'Wait, oh crap, I'm staring at him.'  
  
"Um . . . you're welcome?"  
  
He smiled, amused, and turned his attention to the television. Buffy looked down at the big plate of cookies on the table, thinking.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"What is it, pet?"  
  
She held up the plate warily. "Err . . . do you want a cookie? Blood must have a really nasty aftertaste, and there are too many for me to eat."  
  
Spike looked over at her, confused. 'Why's she being so nice to me?' He looked at the cookies nervously. 'Maybe they're poisoned . . . or drugged. But I do love sweets . . .'  
  
"What kind?"  
  
She picked one up and took a large bite out of it. "Chocolate chip. Pretty good."  
  
Spike's ears perked up when he heard what she'd said. 'Chocolate?'  
  
"Pass one over here, then."  
  
Buffy stuffed a cookie into his mouth, giggling.  
  
"Mpmph bmph phew mwere mpst whmpt tmph dmph dhat." Spike mumbled as he tried to simultaneously talk and eat.  
  
Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "What was that, Spike? Maybe you should speak up."  
  
He swallowed, giving her a mock glare. "As I was saying, I bet you were just waiting to do that. Tempt the Big Bad with sweets and then try to choke him to death by shovin' it half way down his throat. Good thing for me vampires don't need to breathe."  
  
Buffy snorted. "Yeah, right, six years as a Slayer and that's what I have to resort to; tying up evil fiends and choking them with cookies. Ooh, villains beware!"  
  
Spike was about to retort when the doorbell rang. Buffy smirked.  
  
"Spike, why don't you go hop over there and see who that is?"  
  
He glared at her, and she got up from her comfortable seat. "Fine, fine, don't get it. Jeez, chivalry really is dead."  
  
Buffy opened the front door to see Xander waiting on the front porch. He smiled when he saw Buffy.  
  
"Xander? What are you doing here?"  
  
"Didn't Giles remember to tell you? I'm here to relieve you of the burden of watching Spike. I told him to tell you I would be coming over later . . ."  
  
Buffy slapped herself in the side of the head. "Right, right, I do remember that."  
  
Xander grinned, looking proud of himself. "I didn't welsh or anything. I'm here, good old reliable Xander."  
  
"Um, Xander, I really do appreciate this, but . . . I'm actually doing fine. You don't have to take over if you don't want to."  
  
Xander looked at his friend as if she'd grown a second head.  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
"No. I mean, the party I wanted to go to is already over, and . . . the program I was watching isn't finished. It's just getting to the best part."  
  
"Okay Buffy. Number one, it's only 10 o' clock. No college party ever gets out until at least one in the morning." Xander peered over her shoulder and into the house. "And number two, the program you're watching is an infomercial for . . . hair removal cream."  
  
Buffy blushed for what seemed like the millionth time that night, flustered.  
  
"Yeah, well . . . it happens to be that I'm running out of my . . . hair removal stuff, and - and they were just about to show the before and after pictures! I need to see if it's good enough for my . . . hair removing needs."  
  
She grimaced inwardly, realizing how extremely lame her excuse sounded. Xander put a hand up to her forehead.  
  
"Hmm, you don't feel hot," he said in a half joking manner. "Buff, what's going on?"  
  
Buffy realized that she had to think up something semi-believable, and fast. There was no way she could ever tell Xander that she was actually . . . enjoying her time with Spike. He'd think she was possessed.  
  
"Look, I just feel bad about taking away your time with Anya. You obviously care about her, and she cares about you too, but . . ." Buffy lowered her voice to a whisper. "We've been talking, and she told me that she's been feeling neglected lately. Saying that she feels you don't spend enough time with her."  
  
Xander stared at her incredulously. "You and Anya have been talking? I didn't even know you two were friends!"  
  
"Yes, well, we are. Very, very, close friends. But that's not the point. She's upset, and if I were you, I would go home and, um, comfort her. Show her a night out on the town."  
  
Xander looked at Buffy again, shocked and grateful. "Thanks for telling me, I probably should go to her place, and . . . are you sure you don't mind taking over my shift?"  
  
"Of course not. I just want to make sure everything works out fine for you two."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Buffy shook her head, exasperated. "Xander . . ."  
  
He smiled, grateful. "Thanks a million Buff, I really owe you one."  
  
After he had left, Buffy closed the door with a sigh. She felt guilty that she had lied to Xander, but relieved that he had bought her excuse. She made her way back to the living room and plopped down on the sofa, grabbing another cookie. She was about to bite into it when she noticed Spike was staring at her.  
  
"Why, Slayer. I didn't know you cared," he said, teasingly.  
  
Buffy looked over at him, attempting a non-chalant expression.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You know; you, making up excuses to stay here with me a little longer. I'm touched."  
  
"I wasn't making up excuses! I really have been talking to Anya . . ."  
  
"Yeah, right, and I'm the bloody Queen Mother. Look, you're a horrible liar. He might not have fell for it, but I can see right through you." He paused. "So why'd you do it?"  
  
She shrugged, faking a yawn. "I'm tired. That and I changed my mind about going out. It doesn't feel like a party night."  
  
"I told you, Slayer, I can see right through you. Don't give me some bullshit answer; I want the truth."  
  
Buffy looked over at him nervously, sighing in defeat. "Fine, to be perfectly honest . . . and if you let anyone know I told you this, you're dead . . . I - you haven't been such a pain in the ass lately. Tonight especially. I don't know what it is, but . . . I can stand to stay in the same room with you without wanting to rip your head off."  
  
She looked over at him and studied his face, his eyes. 'He seems . . . I don't know, touched? This is too weird.'  
  
He smiled lightly. "Feeling's mutual."  
  
And so they sat, in amicable silence.  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	4. Wounded

Disclaimers: Santa never gave me a pony for Christmas, and he didn't give me this, either.  
  
Feedback: Well, duh.  
  
Author's Note: Thanks for everyone that's been reviewing, it makes me feel appreciated. Uh, that's all I have to say.  
  
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"I think I found it!"  
  
Buffy looked up from the book she was reading. "Found what, Giles?"  
  
"The spell! The, um, the truth spell."  
  
"Why would you want a truth spell?"  
  
"Don't you remember? For Spike, to see if he really is harmless. See, it's right here."  
  
"So if it works . . . and he really -is-, um, impotent, does that mean that you're going to let him go? You know, untie him and release him into the wild?"  
  
"Well, that was the plan. I'd really like to have my house back to myself again . . . free of bloodsucking fiends."  
  
Buffy frowned. It had been one week since she'd last vampsat, so to speak, for Giles. And she had actually -enjoyed- her time with Spike, hard as that was to believe. She'd been reluctant to admit it to herself, but she was starting to think of him as somewhat of a friend. So the thought that Spike might leave Sunnydale troubled her.  
  
"So . . . when are you planning to do this spell?"  
  
Giles looked down at the book again, studying it. "Well, the supplies should take a few days to gather, but I reckon we could do it sometime next week; this week if we're lucky."  
  
"Oh." Buffy said quietly. Giles peered up at her inquisitively.  
  
"Buffy, what's wrong? I would have thought you'd be overjoyed."  
  
"No, I'm fine, it's just . . . I'm tired. Didn't get much sleep last night, what with classes and patrolling and all."  
  
"If you want, I could take over patrolling tonight."  
  
"Oh, no, Giles. It would be too dangerous."  
  
He shook his head. "Don't worry, I'd get Willow and Xander to come with me. I'm not some harmless old man, you know. Besides, I have plenty of weapons . . ."  
  
"I don't know . . . if anything happened to you . . ."  
  
Giles shook his head fervently. "Nothing would happen, and you deserve a night to relax." He frowned. "Oh . . .but then someone would have to watch over Spike for me."  
  
Buffy's ears perked up. "Well, I could do it if you want me too. You guys could do the patrolling thing and I could stay in your house, watch TV or something."  
  
"But Buffy, I couldn't ask you to . . ."  
  
"It's no problem. Honestly, you would be doing all of the hard work, and I could just have a nice, quiet, relaxing evening. Besides, if Spike gets too annoying, I can always gag him with a sock!" She was only partially kidding.  
  
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"You're cheating."  
  
Buffy glanced up from her deck and smiled. "Can I help that you're so lousy at cards?"  
  
"Yeah, well, see how good you are at poker when you're tied up to a chair."  
  
"Well, that happens to be your own fault. Maybe if you weren't a violent killer we wouldn't have to take such precautions."  
  
He ignored her, focusing on his hand. "I'll take 3 cards."  
  
Buffy peered at the cards lying on his lap. "Err, which ones do you wanna discard?"  
  
"The ones on the far left."  
  
"Which left? Mine or yours?"  
  
"Ugh! Forget it, I quit!" Spike growled in anger. "No one can play poker like this!"  
  
Buffy picked up his cards and placed them on hers, returning them to the top of the deck. "You weren't complaining when you were winning."  
  
"Yeah, well . . ."  
  
Buffy sat up on the couch. "So, what do you want to play next? Monopoly? Scrabble? Twister?"  
  
"No, I want to play the Quiet Game. Ever head of it?" He turned his head away from her, sulking.  
  
"Someone's a sore loser."  
  
Spike shifted in the seat, grimacing. "Yeah, well, I can't help it. These ropes chafe, you tied 'em too damn tight."  
  
"Oh, right. You're just making up excuses."  
  
"See for yourself."  
  
Buffy got up and walked behind his chair, taking his bound wrists in her hands. She moved the rope to the side, gasping when she saw the marks they had left. The raw spots were a deep crimson and some were even bleeding. Buffy touched the sores gently, and Spike winced, attempting to pull his hands away.  
  
"Ow! Bloody hell, Slayer!"  
  
"These look pretty bad, Spike." She got up from the floor. "I'll be right back."  
  
Buffy left the living room and made her way to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit. She then made her way to the basement and retrieved scissors and more rope.  
  
She returned and set her supplies in back of Spike. Then she walked around to the front of the chair, giving him a no-nonsense glare.  
  
"Spike, your wounds needed to be tended to, and I can't do that if you're still tied. I'm going to free your wrists . . ."  
  
His face lit up. " . . . But if you try anything, I have a stake on hand, and I'm not afraid to use it."  
  
Buffy moved behind the chair again, picking up the scissors. She took the ropes and gently placed them between the scissors, cutting slowly, not wanting to rub the twine against Spike's sensitive flesh.  
  
She sawed through the rope and gingerly peeled it away, placing the bloodied material on the ground.  
  
"They're free."  
  
Spike moved his arms from behind his back and stretched, groaning. "God, that feels good. You know; you never appreciate freedom until you've been tied up to a chair for weeks. Trust me, it's not as nice as it sounds."  
  
"Yeah, well, enjoy it for now, it's only temporary. After I fix your wrists, I have to tie you up again."  
  
She pulled one of his hands closer to her for examination. She opened the first aid kit and removed the rubbing alcohol. She uncapped the lid and soaked a cotton ball with the solution. Buffy brought it up to Spike's wrist and he cringed, pulling away.  
  
"What are you doing? You're not going to put that on me!"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Spike, it's just rubbing alcohol. It'll help you heal faster. Now stop being such a big baby and give me your hand."  
  
"But . . . it stings."  
  
Buffy sighed, wrenching his hand towards her and dabbing at the sores lightly. Spike gave a yip and tried to pull away, his eyes watery with pain. Buffy finished cleaning the blood from the first hand, and dropped the cotton ball to the floor. She took the medical gauze next to her and wrapped his wrist, being careful not to pull it too tight. She picked up his second hand and did the same for it, Spike flinching every time the rubbing alcohol touched his open wounds.  
  
Buffy pulled his hands out in front of him, examining her handiwork with a smile. "See? All better."  
  
Spike looked down at his wrists, impressed. "You really did a quality job here, Slayer. Ever considered becoming a nurse?"  
  
Buffy grinned. "Nah, I'm really more into helping mankind through death kinda girl. Besides, bandaging hands? Doesn't give you the same kind of adrenaline rush that a good kill does. Not that it isn't rewarding in and of itself . . ."  
  
"Buffy." He reached out and grasped her warm hands into his. "Thank you. Really."  
  
He looked up at her with soft, tender eyes. Spike started to lean towards her, and she found herself coming towards him as well. Her heart stopped in her throat.  
  
'Is he going to kiss me?'  
  
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To be continued . . .  
  
A/N: Ha ha ha! I'm evil, aren't I? If you really want to find out what's going to happen, you'll have to wait until the next chapter. Stay tuned! 


	5. Apologies

Disclaimers: Not. Mine.  
  
Feedback: No! I hate it! (Just kidding)  
  
Author's Note: First off: how amazingly awesome was JM in 'Beneath You'? I mean, really, give that guy an Emmy. Okay, okay, I couldn't leave you hanging too long; I was afraid I'd start getting death threats. So, here you go, a new chapter, hot off the presses.  
  
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She gazed deep into his piercing eyes, letting herself get lost in their endless pools of blue. Buffy found herself drawing closer to him, her heart fluttering in excitement. She cocked her head to the side to accommodate him, and their lips brushed, just as the front door swung open. Xander, Willow, and Giles walked in, and Buffy could hear Spike curse under his breath. She pulled her hands from him and backed away, distraught, hoping that her friends hadn't seen them.  
  
"And then I was all 'Eat this, bloodsucker!' and he was all 'poof'! I was so cool . . . except for the part where I fell and almost impaled myself on the stake, but still . . ." Willow rambled excitedly.  
  
"Don't worry, Will, your coolness remains intact. Whereas my screaming and running away - not so much," Xander grumbled.  
  
The Wiccan grinned. "I'm sure it was very manly screaming."  
  
"Thanks . . . one more night like that and my tombstone will be sure to read: 'Xander Harris - Manly Screamer.'"  
  
Willow plopped down on the couch. "Hey, Buffy. How'd the vegging go? Have fun?"  
  
"Almost," Buffy muttered under her breath. She attempted a half-smile as she addressed her friend. "Not really. But it was relaxing . . . I feel saner already."  
  
"Well I should hope so." Buffy turned to see Giles, who was working his way through a rather large glass of scotch. "I nearly got killed tonight, and I would like to think that my death would not have been in vain."  
  
Buffy frowned. "I take it the patrolling didn't go so well?"  
  
"Ignore them," Willow smiled proudly. "They're just grumpy 'cause they didn't get in on any of the slaying action. But me, on the other hand . . . I was kicking some serious undead booty."  
  
"So how many vamps did you run into?"  
  
"Two, I think," Willow said. "Pretty small number for a Saturday night."  
  
"Yeah . . . weird."  
  
"Maybe they were all down at the Blood Bank getting the early bird special!" Xander piped up.  
  
"I don't think so," Buffy scoffed, "Blood banks aren't big on -trying- to attract vampires. I mean, why do you think they hang garlic on the doors?"  
  
"That's garlic?" Willow queried. "I thought it was some kind of decorative wreath or something."  
  
"Speaking of the evil dead, how's it going, Spike?" Xander said, as he patted the vampire on the back. "I'm surprised that Buffy didn't gag you . . . I know that's the first thing I would've done."  
  
He glared at Xander, giving him a one-finger salute.  
  
"Yeah, Spike, real original." Xander said, mockingly. "Maybe you finally managed to -" He stopped short when something finally dawned on him. "You - you're hands! They're free! Spike's hands are free!" Xander grabbed a stake from his jacket; the one he'd kept for patrolling.  
  
"Xander, stop!" Buffy said, a tinge of hysteria in her voice. "It's okay . . . I - I untied him."  
  
Everyone in the room turned to stare at her, shocked. Buffy looked around nervously, continuing. "So, um, he wasn't trying to escape or anything."  
  
Spike gave her a look that he hoped portrayed his gratitude, and nodded his head. "S'right. So the next time you decide to jump to a conclusion, Harris, make sure I'm not around. I don't fancy having to spend the rest of eternity in an ashtray."  
  
Xander ignored him; he was too busy gawking at Buffy. "Why - why did you free his hands? He could've killed you!"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Xander, honestly . . . the ropes around his wrists were digging into his skin, and I didn't want him to be uncomfortable."  
  
His jaw hung slack. "But, wha- since when have you cared whether Spike was comfortable or not? He's tied up to a chair! It's not exactly the Ritz Carlton!"  
  
Buffy looked down at the floor, blushing. "He was bleeding, and - besides, he's harmless. And I don't think he would've-"  
  
"Buffy, we don't know if he lying or not; we won't know until we do the truth spell. You know that Spike isn't to be trusted . . . he's a ruthless, brutal monster that was-"  
  
"Um, you know, he's sitting -right here-" Spike piped up. "Look, you need to lay off the girl. Slayer tries to do a nice thing, and you jump down her throat. C'mon, she's kicked my ass God knows how many times, and - and you think that my master plan is to wait until I'm good and vulnerable and -then- make my move? Please."  
  
He paused, looking around the room before turning his attentions to Buffy. "Thanks for fixin' me up, luv." Spike gestured towards the rope on the ground. "You want to do the honors?"  
  
"Um . . . sure."  
  
Spike placed his hands behind the chair. "Could you try not tying 'em so tight this time? If you trust that I won't escape, that is . . ."  
  
"O - okay," Buffy stammered, picking up the thick twine. She moved behind him and went about binding his wrists in a slow, methodical manner. She pulled the last knot on the rope and stood up. "That okay?"  
  
"It's great, Slayer, thanks." He looked up at the other three. "Now, if you're gonna keep arguing, would you mind doing it in another room? There's a program coming on that I wanna watch, and it'd be hard to concentrate with all of the criticism flying back and forth."  
  
"No, I'm quite done." Giles gave an exasperated sigh and made his way upstairs, retreating into his bedroom.  
  
Willow looked at the ground, fidgeting. "I'm gonna go, too. Um . . . 'night Buffy."  
  
She left, the front door slamming behind her; leaving in her wake a veil of awkward silence. Xander was still glaring at Spike, confused and upset.  
  
"Xander -" Buffy started, but he stormed out of the house.  
  
Buffy sat on the couch and cradled her head in her hands; her body shaking from what Spike figured was either sobs or laughter. When she was finally still, Spike spoke up.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes red and watery. "What do you have to be sorry about? I shouldn't have untied you in the first place . . ."  
  
"Don't talk that way! You were just doin' what you thought was right; your 'friends' had no right to be so damned judgmental . . . overreactin', they were. If I were you, I would-"  
  
"Stop." Buffy interrupted. "Just . . . stop. I - I can't deal with this right now; the way I feel. I can't do this right now, all of this. It's wrong. I have to . . . go. I have to think, and . . . just go."  
  
Spike's heart sank as she got up and strode out of the living room quickly, making her way to the door. Buffy paused, however, in front of it.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
A/N: Ha! Ended on a not-so-happy note, but things'll get better. I mean, hell, it is a Spuffy fic. And, relax, you'll get your smoochies soon enough. 


	6. Truth

Disclaimers: Sadly, Joss owns this. Darn it.  
  
Feedback: Need it. Want it. Must have it.  
  
Author's Note: Hee hee, I just love to tease you guys . . . make smoochies seem soooo close and then BAM! Take 'em away. You have been good kiddies, so you'll get a longer chapter this time. Aww, don't fret . . . Spuffiness abounds this chapter; let your heart sing!  
  
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Buffy twirled the plastic cord around her index finger, sighing. "Mmm hmm . . . sure, Giles. You want me to bring cloves, rosemary . . . are you sure you didn't accidentally read a recipe for spaghetti sauce?" She joked. "Yeah, um, okay. I'll be right over." She hung up the phone and made her way to the kitchen cupboard. Buffy spun the spice rack around until she found what she was looking for. She set the small jars on the counter, her thoughts drifting to Spike.  
  
'After this . . . after we do the truth spell . . . everything will be different. If Spike's truly harmless, that is. If he's been lying . . . no, best not to think of that. Will he leave, I wonder? Probably . . . not like there's anything keeping him here, not like I'm giving him any reason to stay . . . especially after my little - emotional outburst last night.'  
  
Buffy started to pace around the room, angrily. 'What gave them the right to interrupt like that, anyway? Haven't they ever heard of knocking?' *It's Giles' house . . .* a small voice in the back of her head reminded her. 'I wish Spike were here . . . he would know what to say to cheer me up. Spike! The truth spell!' She glanced up to the clock. 'Crap! I was supposed to be at Giles' ten minutes ago!'  
  
Buffy grabbed her coat as well as the kitchen spices and headed out the front door, hoping that Giles wouldn't be too upset.  
  
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Her hand hesitated over the door before Buffy finally gave a tentative knock.  
  
"Err - anyone home? It's me, Buffy."  
  
The front door swung wide open and she was suddenly face - to - face with a flustered Giles.  
  
"Oh, Buffy, good. I just left a message on your machine; I was afraid you weren't going to come."  
  
She gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I - um, we were out of cloves and I had to run to the grocery store."  
  
"Well, as long as you're here . . ." Giles opened the door wider, realizing she was still on the front porch. "Come in, come in."  
  
Buffy stepped inside the house, hanging her coat on the rack next to the door. She made her way into the living room, setting the jars on the coffee table.  
  
"So, Giles, are we spell bound?"  
  
"As soon as I get the supplies from my room, we can start." Her eyes followed him as he made his way up the stairs until he disappeared from her sight. Buffy turned to Spike, who was dozing in the chair next to her. Spike's head was slumped forward and his lips were parted slightly, a small trickle of drool spilling from the side of his mouth onto his black T- shirt.  
  
She smiled at the sleeping vampire, enjoying seeing him so vulnerable. 'He looks so sweet and innocent.' Buffy leaned down and cupped his cheek with her hand in a gesture of affection. 'Wow, he has really smooth skin . . .'  
  
"Buffy? Are you ready to start the spell?" Buffy's head jerked up as Giles came down the stairs.  
  
"Um, yeah, sure."  
  
She let her hand fall from Spike's cheek as she turned to face Giles. "So, what do we do?"  
  
He studied the text in front of him. "You take these herbs," he gestured to the small pile of dried greens next to him, "And sprinkle them around Spike as I recite the incantation."  
  
"That's so easy . . . it's like Truth Spells for Dummies." Buffy's eyes flicked over to the vampire in the chair. "Shouldn't he, um, be awake for this?"  
  
"Hmm? Oh, for God's sake! Spike! Wake up!"  
  
"What? What time is it?" Spike shifted and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glancing at the clock angrily. "It's only 2 o' clock in the afternoon! You weren't supposed to wake me 'till six! Bloody hell, Rupert, you could have - Buffy." The anger in his voice melted away. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Giles needs me to help him with a spell he's doing."  
  
He eyed her warily. "What kind of spell?"  
  
"Umm . . . the truth kind."  
  
"Truth spell? For me, I wager."  
  
"Yeah, we have to find out it you're really neutered. He can't really trust you, so . . . he has to do the spell."  
  
"Neutered? I'm not impotent, ya know. I prefer the term 'temporarily incapacitated'."  
  
A grin spread across Buffy's face. "Incapacitated - hmm . . . no. I think neutered fits you to a T. I mean, you're like a harmless, fluffy, little kitten now."  
  
He growled. "Watch it, Slayer, or I'll -"  
  
"Spike? Little word of advice; the intimidation thing doesn't really work when you've got drool on your chin."  
  
"Huh?" He reached down to wipe the saliva from his face, embarrassed. "Right then," he said, eager to change the subject. "Watcher? Is the spell ready?"  
  
"It's been ready for the past five minutes . . . if you two will stop bickering for a moment, we can get this over with. Now, Buffy, retrieve the spices," Giles instructed, his eyes never leaving the book. "Now, I need you to walk counterclockwise around Spike, sprinkling the herbs around him in a circular pattern. Understood?"  
  
"Gotcha."  
  
He cleared his throat, signaling that he was about to begin. "Let your deceitful tongue be broken, let no untruths be spoken . . ."  
  
'Blah blah blah,' Buffy thought as she walked around Spike, leaving a trail of spice. 'I wonder if it'll work? Wait - did Giles say clockwise or counterclockwise? I hope I'm doing this right - it's not like I'm magically inclined or anything. Why couldn't he just get Willow to do it?'  
  
"Buffy! You can stop now . . ."  
  
"Oh! Is it finished? Did it work?" She leaned towards Spike, examining him.  
  
"With this particular spell, there's no way of telling, from the exterior, that is, if it has taken effect. There's only one way to find out."  
  
Giles took a seat on the couch, turning to Spike. Buffy sat down next to her Watcher, intrigued.  
  
"What is your name?" He asked.  
  
"William LeFont, William the Bloody, Spike."  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"One hundred and twenty-one." Spike was surprised at how the words seemed to flow from his mouth, out of his control.  
  
"Where were you born?"  
  
"London, England."  
  
"When did you first arrive in Sunnydale?"  
  
"Two years ago . . . nearly three. Look, are you gonna ask any questions about the chip, or do you just want my life story?"  
  
Giles ignored him. "Why did you come here?"  
  
"Two reasons - to get closer to the Hellmouth so Dru could heal, and to kill the Slayer."  
  
"After you failed to kill Buffy, what did you do?"  
  
"Brood, sulk . . . think up methods of revenge ending in her demise."  
  
"Did you ever manage to get your revenge?"  
  
"Hell, no. Slayer beat me down . . . and after that . . ."  
  
"Yes? What happened then?"  
  
"The soddin' chip happened. Damn soldier boys . . ."  
  
"You are referring to the Initiative, I take it."  
  
"Yeah . . . them and their underground lair; what their whole prod and probe experiments. It's sick, really."  
  
"So, after you were chipped, how did you discover that you couldn't harm humans?"  
  
"I went looking for Buffy at her dorm room; found her little friend, instead. Tried to bite her, of course, but the pain was too intense. Initiative goons came after me a second time, and I escaped . . . I went out looking for someone to eat, but it was the same with everyone I found. Shooting pains, anytime I tried to feed." He paused. "S'that all? Because I'd really like to catch up on my beauty sleep."  
  
Giles looked up from the notes that he had been taking. "Yes, I believe so. Of course, I will need Willow to validate this information for me . . . and to make sure that the spell did, in fact, work."  
  
He grabbed his jacket from the rack, draping it over one arm. "Buffy, I'm going down to the dorm to visit Willow . . . we'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Can you handle -"  
  
"I'll be fine . . . Just a warning, though; you keep this up and I'm gonna start charging."  
  
Giles smiled and opened the door, turning to leave.  
  
"How long does it last?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"The truth spell, Giles. How long does it last?"  
  
He spun around to face Buffy. "Well, it depends, really. Anywhere from twenty minutes to a whole day . . . the book is rather vague. Um, why do you want to know?"  
  
"Oh . . . nothing."  
  
Buffy smirked, fighting the urge to start cackling like a madwoman. This was going to be fun.  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	7. Denial

Disclaimers: If this were mine, Spike and Buffy would have gotten together a long time ago. And they would be happy.  
  
Feedback: Please, sir, I want some more.  
  
Author's Note: This chapter was originally part of chapter six, but I figured it was too long, so I split it up. It's a little too short, but what're you going to do? Besides, it made a helluva cliffhanger. Anyway, to summarize this chapter . . . Buffy gets nosy, but what she hears might not always be what she wants. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.  
  
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The front door clicked shut as Giles left the residence, heading for Sunnydale University. Buffy entered the living room and, after making sure that she and Spike were alone in the house, set to work.  
  
She sat down on the couch and picked up the remote, turning on the TV and flipping channels. She waited for what she knew was coming.  
  
"I thought we already went through this, Slayer! Just pick something!"  
  
Buffy glanced over at the annoyed vampire and grinned slyly. "What would you like me to turn to, Spike? The Spice Channel?"  
  
"That'd be nice." His eyes widened comically at the realization of what he'd said.  
  
"Really? Well then, I'll just give you some alone time with your porn." Buffy picked herself up off the couch as if she was going to leave the room.  
  
"No, I want you to stay. I . . . I like spending time with you." He shook his head in frustration. "That's not what I meant to say!"  
  
Buffy sat back down, attempting to keep the surprise from her face. 'He likes spending time with me?'  
  
"I thought you hated me."  
  
"I don't hate you . . . haven't hated you as of late."  
  
'This is just too weird.' Buffy blushed, wanting to change the subject.  
  
"What were you like as a human?"  
  
"Well, I guess you could say I was -" he stopped short of his answer. "Oh, no . . . the spell!" Spike glared at Buffy. "You can't do this!"  
  
"What's stopping me?"  
  
"It's an invasion of privacy! I'd like to think that you have more respect for me than -"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Please, Spike. If I was under a truth spell, wouldn't you do the exact same thing to me?"  
  
"Well, of course." He clenched his eyes shut, his anger obvious. "Dammit!"  
  
She cleared her throat. "As I was -saying-, before you so rudely interrupted; what were you like as a human?"  
  
Spike bit his lip, desperate to keep himself from spilling the information. 'She can't find out - I'd never live it down! I can do this . . . if I have strong enough willpower, I can keep myself from talking.'  
  
"Spike! Answer the question!"  
  
He bit down harder, drawing blood, attempting to swallow the words that were on the tip of his tongue. He couldn't hold it in, however, and he opened his mouth to speak.  
  
"I was a poet! An utter loser looked down on by the upper class. I was a joke - a hopeless bookworm of a nancy boy! There, are you happy?!"  
  
Buffy's looked down to the floor, making it impossible for Spike to judge her reaction.  
  
"A poet?"  
  
She started to chuckle. "Spike, you were a poet?" she repeated, doubling over with laughter. "Spike . . . the Big Bad . . . a poet!" Buffy managed to gasp out in-between laughs, clutching her aching stomach.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, Slayer. Wasn't so funny from my vantage point."  
  
Buffy sniffed and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. She glanced up at Spike, looking guilty. "I'm sorry. It's just -" She gave another giggle and Spike could tell that she wasn't sorry at all.  
  
"I can't see it; you a poet, with the bleached hair and the leather." She smiled devilishly. "Do you still write poetry?"  
  
"What? No!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"B-because it would . . . I'm not good at it. Besides, too many painful memories."  
  
"Painful? Why would your memories be painful? Your poetry can't have been that bad."  
  
Spike grinned wryly. "It -was- that bad. Anyone that tries to rhyme 'effulgent' with 'bulge in it', well -"  
  
She chuckled. "Effulgent? Is that even a word?"  
  
"Of course it's a -word-," Spike snorted with contempt. "It means glowing."  
  
Buffy held her hand to her cheek in mock horror. "Oh, don't let me offend you with me ignorance, oh great poet! Please, continue to astound me with your amazing vocabulary skills!"  
  
"Hey, don't blame me. Some of us have finished college."  
  
Buffy glared. "And some of us aren't tied to a chair in a very vulnerable, possibly dusty position."  
  
"Like you would," Spike scoffed.  
  
"Try me."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "I can't, Slayer. I've got this bloody chip in my head."  
  
"Excuses, excuses. You couldn't beat me even if you tried. You never could."  
  
Spike shrugged; as best one can shrug when they're tied up. "True, that."  
  
"Would you, though?"  
  
"Would I what?"  
  
"Attack me if you got the chip out? I mean, would you try to kill me?"  
  
"Of course not! I could never do that . . . I couldn't."  
  
Buffy looked over at him, surprised. "Why not?"  
  
"Because I love you."  
  
Her face paled, and she put her hand up to her mouth in shock. "What?" Buffy whispered.  
  
"I - I think . . . I think I'm in love with you, Buffy."  
  
"No . . ." Buffy whispered, standing quickly, backing up slowly to the front door. "You can't. You're lying!"  
  
"Truth spell, luv. Can't lie." He said, sounding a bit ashamed.  
  
"I - I - I have to go." She turned and bolted for the door, slamming it behind her on the way out.  
  
"Come back, Buffy! Buffy!"  
  
Spike sighed, hanging his head in defeat.  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	8. Patrolling

Disclaimers: Please, no one sue me. It all belongs to Joss.  
  
Feedback: Ahh, I love it. Keeps me writing.  
  
Author's Note: Don't you love these? Or, hate these and skip over them? I just feel like I have to include an author's note for each chapter because . . . well, it helps take up space and make the chapters look longer. Pathetic, I know. Let's see, in this chapter (chapter 8? Wow, this is my longest fanfic yet), well, I don't want to give it all away, if you actually read this before you read the chapter. But I think you'll like it. This chapter is, like most of the chapters, from Buffy's perspective. Maybe next chapter we'll see things from Spike's perspective. You never know.  
  
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Buffy sighed heavily, frowning, furrowing her brow. She glanced out the window at the surrounding streets, the sunlit sidewalks and the cheerfully painted houses, most likely filled with equally cheerful families. The sun was out and the threatening clouds from yesterday afternoon had all but vanished. Robins and jays were perched on the outstretched limbs of the maple trees, singing joyful, melodious tunes that signaled that everything was right in the world. The day was absolutely perfect. She pressed her fingers up to the glass, closing her weary eyes in thought.  
  
"Dammit."  
  
Buffy started thumping her head against the driver side window, muttering to herself. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit!"  
  
Giles had called her earlier that morning about having a research 'party' over at his place, with all of the Scoobies. She had tried to get out of it; saying that she didn't feel well, she had too much work, couldn't they do it without her just this once? But he had told her that it was 'vital', and had started rambling on about responsibilities and Slayer duties. So Buffy had finally given in, despite the aching feeling in her chest that she got whenever she thought about what was waiting for her over at Giles' house.  
  
'Fucking truth spell. If Giles hadn't left me alone in the house with Spike, I never would have found out - what Spike felt for me. What he feels. But he can't feel . . . 'that' way. He doesn't have a soul so he can't . . . love. Can he?'  
  
She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts; get some clarity.  
  
'Doesn't matter if he can, anyway. I - I don't love him. I know I don't. I don't know -what- I feel for him, but it's not love . . . and it's wrong. He's a vampire; I'm a Slayer. I should be thinking of killing him, not wanting his lips on mine, his tongue . . .'  
  
She thumped her head against the window again. "Dammit."  
  
A hard rap on the door snapped Buffy out of her funk, and she lifted her head in surprise. Giles was standing on the sidewalk next to the car, a concerned look on his face. She opened the door and got out of the car, attempting a smile.  
  
"Hey, Giles. I was just about to go to your house, but I guess you found me first."  
  
"Is there something wrong, Buffy? I saw your car pull up fifteen minutes ago."  
  
She blushed, looking down at the road to avoid his worried gaze. "I - I don't feel well. Remember? I told you that on the phone . . ."  
  
"Oh." Giles looked embarrassed as he started down the pathway to his house. "I'm sorry; after dealing with Xander for so many years, I assumed that it was just an excuse."  
  
He opened the door to his house, ushering her in. Buffy looked over at Giles, smiling genuinely. "Don't worry, I wouldn't have believed me, either."  
  
Her eyes scanned the room and she sat on the sofa that Anya, Xander, and Willow were previously occupying. They were locked in a heated discussion and didn't even notice her presence. Buffy waited to be acknowledged, clasping her sweaty hands together nervously. Giles sat down in the chair next to the couch, picking up a book and scanning its pages.  
  
"Ahem." She cleared her throat, trying to get her friends' attention.  
  
Xander looked over at her, startled. "Oh, Buff! When did you get here?"  
  
"Umm . . . a few minutes ago. What's up?"  
  
"Okay, maybe you can settle this. Who would win in a fight: Spiderman or Batman?"  
  
Buffy scratched her chin, pretending to think hard. "Wow, well, this really is a clencher. Batman is rich and has all of those cool gadgets, but he's not really a superhero, persay. Now Spiderman, on the other hand, actually has powers. He can climb walls and stuff without any aid; plus, he's pretty damn strong. I would have to say Spidey is the victor."  
  
Anya frowned deeply and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't care what you think; Batman would be the clear winner. He has all of the money."  
  
Xander and Anya continued to bicker as Giles motioned for Buffy. She got up from the couch, eager to get away from the arguing couple. She gave the Watcher a grateful smile as she took a seat next to him.  
  
"Good timing, Giles. I owe ya one."  
  
"I was wondering, Buffy . . . last night, after the truth spell I came back and, well, you were gone. I thought you'd agreed to watch Spike, and I was worried that you might have run into some trouble. I asked Spike but he said he didn't know; you just left."  
  
Buffy's heart rate accelerated at the mention of Spike, her throat tightening. 'What can I say - Spike confessed that he loved me and I freaked out? Hardly likely.'  
  
"It was, well . . . feminine issues," she said, her voice low and secretive. "I didn't tell Spike because I was too embarrassed, and . . . you understand."  
  
Giles flushed, removing his glasses and cleaning them hurriedly. "Ah, yes, well, I do understand. Of course you would have to - "  
  
"Where's Spike?" She had finally noticed that the chair she was sitting in was the one that Spike had been occupying for the last few weeks. 'Maybe he moved him into the bathroom?' she thought, hopefully.  
  
"I have no idea, could be anywhere. After I untied him he left without saying a word. Guess he's as happy to be rid of us as we are of him."  
  
'But . . . Spike, he could be anywhere! What if I never see him again! Dammit!'  
  
"What did you do that for?" Buffy shouted, angrily. Her face paled when she realized that she'd actually said that out loud. Anya and Xander had stopped arguing and were now staring at her.  
  
"I - I mean, he could have been lying," Buffy stammered, "The spell, um, might not have worked! This was probably just what he wanted . . ."  
  
"I had Willow check the spell for me; she confirmed the details and made sure that I did the truth spell correctly. There's nothing to worry about, Buffy. Spike is truly incapable of harming any human being without intense neurological pain."  
  
"Oh." Buffy grew quiet, embarrassed. "Heh heh . . . oops. I really need to cut down on the sugar. Makes my brain all wonky." She picked up the book on the table next to her, opening it, avoiding her friends' prying eyes.  
  
"So, research, huh?"  
  
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She trudged across the cemetery, being careful to sidestep the tombstones that threatened to trip her. 'Why should I even care? It's not like we were friends or anything . . . were we? -Are- we? I wonder where Spike is, what he's doing. What if he left Sunnydale? What if he left the country?' Her heartbeat sped up at the thought of never seeing Spike again, until Buffy realized her stupidity.  
  
'He just left yesterday. There's no way in hell he could get out of the country that fast . . . unless he had someone teleport him out. Oh, God, what if he did?' She shook her head angrily. 'Stop this, Buffy! You're supposed to be patrolling. Worrying won't do any good.'  
  
She clutched the stake in her right hand, attempting to concentrate on her surroundings.  
  
'Try not to think about Spike, try not to think about Spike . . .wait, by thinking 'try not to think about Spike', am I thinking about Spike?'  
  
Buffy was jarred from her thoughts, however, as she was tackled from behind. She landed hard on the grass, the air knocked out of her. She rolled around to face her opponent, panting from the fall as well as the adrenaline rush. The fledgling vampire straddled her chest, looking down at her with hungry eyes. Buffy grabbed the vampire's shoulders and flung him off of her with ease. She picked herself up off of the ground, groaning in frustration. Her new leather jacket had gotten a large patch of mud on it from the sodden soil.  
  
'Why do I keep wearing nice clothes when I go patrolling?'  
  
"You are -so- going to pay for this!" Buffy pulled the stake out from her pocket, advancing towards the fledgling. She thrust her fist towards it's chest when, all of the sudden, it turned to dust. "What the f -"  
  
The words caught in her throat as she noticed the familiar leather-clad figure standing in front of her.  
  
"Hello, luv."  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	9. Clumsy

Disclaimers: If wishes were horses then beggars would ride. This isn't mine.  
  
Feedback: If it'll make you feel better.  
  
Author's Note: I took a little longer with this chapter (sorry), I don't know if it has anything to do with an increase in quality, or the fact that I'm a lazy bum. Check out my new story 'Bittersweet Darkness' if you want another good Spuffy read . . . little higher on the angst factor, though. All right, this chapter is in Spike's perspective (it's also a little short, but there's a nice payoff, I swear)! Yay! All right, semi-yay, but I try to please the readers. Try being the key word.  
  
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The dust settled and he could see Buffy staring at him, her mouth agape.  
  
'Luv . . . love. Bad choice of words, very bad.'  
  
"Um, Buffy. H-Hello, Buffy," Spike stammered, chastising himself mentally. 'Oh, great, now I've ruined the entrance. Stuttering, yeah, real manly, there.'  
  
She stood still, frozen, making no attempts to move or speak. After clearing his throat, he tried again.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
This got her attention, and he watched with glee as a rosy hue crept up to her cheeks. She turned her eyes to the ground, avoiding him.  
  
"S-Spike. What are you doing here? I thought you would've left the country by now."  
  
He chuckled sarcastically.  
  
"Oh, don't sound so happy to see me! I was just picking up some blood from the butcher's, pet." He raised the brown bag he was carrying, heavy with plastic sacks filled with a familiar red substance. "A fellow needs to eat, y'know."  
  
Buffy toyed with the wooden stake in her hands nervously.  
  
"Right . . . I knew that. I - I was just, um, patrolling. As you could tell."  
  
'Time to liven things up a bit,' Spike thought, wickedly.  
  
"Well, you weren't doin' too good a job of it, from what I saw."  
  
That did it. Buffy's eyes rose from the ground, meeting his. She glared at him fiercely.  
  
"What?"  
  
'Oh, this is going to be fun'. He raised one scarred eyebrow at her, his expression questioning.  
  
"I mean, I come over and you're sprawled on the ground, totally helpless."  
  
Her jaw dropped out of anger and shock at his accusations.  
  
"Oh, that's such bull! I can handle myself."  
  
He gave a contemptuous snort.  
  
"Sure, Slayer, right."  
  
Her arms were now folded across her chest defensively; she looked about a millisecond away from an eye-roll.  
  
"I can!"  
  
His eyes grew wide and innocent, as Spike put on his best 'Who - me?' expression.  
  
"I agreed with you, pet. What part of 'right' don't you understand?"  
  
"It's the way you said it. Like if I said: 'Gee, Spike, I really enjoy your company', it's obvious that I would be -"  
  
"Telling the truth? Finally, an honest answer."  
  
She rolled her eyes as expected, but Spike could tell that she wasn't really angry.  
  
'She's so cute when she's frustrated'.  
  
"Like you would know an 'honest answer' if it bit you on the -"  
  
Before he knew what was happening, Buffy had pushed him, sending him to the ground. He quickly got to his feet again, rubbing his aching back.  
  
"What in the bleedin' hell was that for?"  
  
Looking over at Buffy, he noticed that she was currently doing battle with a vampire.  
  
'That's why she pushed me? To save me from him? I don't know how to feel . . . touched that she cares, or really annoyed that she thinks I can't handle myself.'  
  
He watched with amusement as she quickly dusted the vampire and made her way over to him.  
  
"Are you okay? He kind of came out of nowhere . . ."  
  
"You didn't have to protect me, you know. Just cause I can't defend myself anymore doesn't mean that I can't run away effectively. I'm not completely helpless."  
  
Her face was a mask of confusion. "Protect you?"  
  
"You know, the whole shoving me out of harm's way thing?"  
  
She rolled her eyes again. "Please, I didn't shove you. You probably tripped over your own feet."  
  
"Riiight. This, coming from the biggest klutz in history. I'm so offended."  
  
Buffy ignored him, choosing instead to glance down at her watch. "Oh, crap, it's almost midnight. I've gotta get back in time to write my English paper." She looked back up at Spike. "It's been great catching up with you, really, but I've got to go. Take care of yourself," she said, her voice dripping with mock sincerity, "be careful that you don't trip and fall on a stake or something."  
  
Spike found himself oddly annoyed, less at her words than at the fact that she was able to get under his skin. A wicked thought crossed his mind, as he innocently stuck his foot out in front of the passing Slayer.  
  
'I'll show her clumsy'.  
  
Buffy didn't see the foot in time and tripped, her arms flailing wildly. She grabbed on to Spike's duster and pulled him down onto the ground with her, using his body to break her fall. Panting unnecessarily, he looked up at her, frustrated.  
  
"Great, so it's not enough to push me, now you have to bring me down with you. Thanks ever so."  
  
She looked down at him, her face contorted with anger. "Well, it's your own fault. You tripped me!"  
  
Deciding to go another route, Spike grinned at her devilishly.  
  
"This whole 'tripping' thing is just some lame excuse to get closer to me. Admit it, already."  
  
Blushing, she scowled at him, but made no attempt to move.  
  
"You're one to talk! After the truth spell, how can you pretend like you don't care? This was probably your plan all along!"  
  
"And what if it was? Would it bother you so much?"  
  
She blushed harder, her cheeks flaming.  
  
"Yes, it would. You being so close . . . it-it disgusts me," she finished half-heartedly.  
  
He moved his face closer to hers, enjoying her discomfort and embarrassment.  
  
"Deny it," he whispered, his voice low and sultry, "Tell me that you don't want it. That you aren't dying to-"  
  
Before he could finish his sentence, Buffy's lips were on his, silencing him. After the initial shock wore off, Spike began to kiss her back, relishing the soft, warm feel of her lips and tongue. Time seemed to stand still, and after a few minutes, Buffy broke the kiss and opened her eyes. With a gasp she pulled herself off of him, shocked at what she had done.  
  
"I -I . . . have to go . . ."  
  
She took off running, not even bothering with a backward glance. Spike stood up, watching her go but not attempting to stop her; he knew it would do more harm than good. He fumbled with the duster pockets, searching for a cigarette.  
  
'Why is she always leaving just when things get good?'  
  
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To be continued . . .  
  
A/N: Yay for smoochies! Told you they'd be coming! Next chapter, see Buffy's reaction to the kiss. 


	10. All About Buffy

Disclaimers: I don't own this, sadly. If I did, I would have a hell of a lot more money than I do.  
  
Feedback: Yes, I finally have one hundred reviews! Hallelujah!  
  
Author's Note: I promised smoochies, and I delivered. Satisfied? Ha, who am I kidding, it wasn't a lot of smoochies. Not nearly enough (so I'll make a promise right now for future kissage). To NeverMindDaria, don't worry, Buffy may be in denial, but it won't last (too) long. I really got fed up with season 6 Buffy and her 'I love you', 'No, I hate you' crap. Anyway, this chapter, like I promised, is Buffy's reaction to the kiss, her inner turmoil ('cause God knows she has loads of it), and maybe a little Spike. Just maybe.  
  
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Two hours later, Buffy found herself wandering through the cemetery, dazed. Her plan (if there had ever been such a thing, she was starting to think not) had been to run directly to her house and take a shower. A very long, very -cold- shower. She knew that she needed to get her mind off of Spike, as he was a source of most, if not all, of her stress these days, but she also knew that she had to take some kind of action.  
  
'I shouldn't have done that . . .it was just - just wrong. It was a wrong, bad, sick, twisted, wicked, naughty, yummy kiss. A yummy kiss with a vampire . . . a vampire named -Spike- for God's sake! Not exactly someone you can bring home to mother. Not that I would even consider bringing him home . . . well, I might, but not to meet my mom. What would I say: 'Hey, I'd like you to meet Spike. He's a friend, well, kind of a friend, who used to be an enemy, and we tried to kill each other several times but that's all behind us now, and -'  
  
She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling, and waited for her thoughts to clear a bit before starting up again.  
  
'And he's a real pain in the ass sometimes; a frustrating, aggravating, infuriating, intoxicating, occasionally nice guy that, okay, happens to be undead, but can be really sweet and is a great kisser . . . but I can't be with him, ever. Because he's a demon. And demons are evil . . . right? Spike's evil . . . maybe not so much as of late, but I'm sure that if he had the chip out he would do things. Bad things; things as are expected of a creature like him. I'm sure he's working on getting the chip out as I speak . . . well, technically think. The last time I saw him, he was . . . getting pig's blood from the butcher's shop. But he also . . . um, dusted a vampire.'  
  
Buffy took a seat on a rather large tombstone, sighing and cradling her face in the palms of her hands.  
  
'Reeeeal convincing argument there, Buffy,' she chastised herself, 'What is the -evil- thing planning on doing next - watching television? Sleeping, perhaps? That bastard!'  
  
"Shut up, brain," she muttered grumpily, "What would you know?"  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
Her head shot up at the sound of her name, her throat tightening and her heart starting to pound.  
  
'Oh, God, what if it's . . . Xander?'  
  
"Xander?" she mimicked, confused, "What are you doing here? In the cemetery? At night? Do you have a death wish or something?"  
  
"Not since high school," he joked, jogging over to her. "Giles was about ready to send out a search party for you; Willow said you never came back to the dorm.  
  
Buffy smacked herself on the side of the head. "Oh, man, I completely forgot to check in with her. What time is it?" she asked, guiltily.  
  
"Almost midnight; you'd been gone patrolling for over four hours. Giles called me to say that I should come over 'immediately', and that had been missing for about two hours. I was on my way over when I spotted you in the cemetery. Are you all right? No gaping flesh wounds anywhere?"  
  
She gave a slight smile. "No, no, I'm fine. Clothes are a little dusty, but otherwise, I'm no worse for the wear."  
  
"Maybe it's none of my business, but . . . why -were- you gone for so long? Is something wrong?"  
  
"No, nothing's wrong. I'm just . . . well, I ran into Spike on the way home."  
  
"Spike?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "He didn't try anything funny, did he?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Nothing funny . . . he actually dusted a vamp for me." She shrugged. "I don't see why it matters Xander, he couldn't kill me even if he wanted to."  
  
"Right, because he's impotent now."  
  
"He's not impotent! He's . . . incapacitated."  
  
"Are you sticking up for him?" He asked, incredulously.  
  
"I'm not! T-There was no sticking! I was merely stating the facts. Impotent suggests that . . . well, you know. And I don't think he's -"  
  
"Okay, I so -don't- want to go there," Xander interrupted. "Still," he continued, "weren't you the one calling him that just a few days ago? You know, impotent?"  
  
"Was I?" Buffy asked innocently, "I don't remember . . . classes kind of wear me down," she grumbled.  
  
"College is really tough, huh?" he asked, sympathetically, "That's why I stopped going to class after high school, Buff."  
  
'And that's why you're still living in your parent's basement', she thought, rather cattily. Guilt washed over her, and she found herself fighting the urge to apologize to Xander for thinking such a mean thing. 'Bad Buffy. Spike must really be affecting you; pretty soon you'll be calling him Harris. That or 'The Whelp'.'  
  
She giggled at this and Xander stared at her, worried.  
  
"Are you -sure- you're alright? You're acting kind of wiggy . . . you're not possessed or anything, are you?"  
  
"No," she sniffed, biting back peals of laughter; "I'm just fine. Sorry if I'm pulling a Drusilla on you, it's just been a long night." She glanced down at her watch. "And it's almost one in the morning . . . I think we should probably get back before Willow calls the cops. That and I really need to write that English paper."  
  
"Yeah," Xander agreed, "I've gotta get back to so I can . . . um . . . shower. You aren't the only one with important things to do, Missy," he pointed at Buffy with a stern look on his face. "It isn't all about you, you know."  
  
Buffy grinned. "It should be."  
  
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'All about her, isn't it? Always about Buffy, and her bloody inner turmoil. Don't I get a turn to brood?'  
  
Spike paced around his crypt, his mind racing.  
  
'Wait, no, I take that back. Don't want to turn into the Great Poof, there. But still, why can't -I- be the one to kiss -her- and then run away, all tormented and confused. Girl needs to stop waffling back and forth between emotions. Does she want to be with me or doesn't she?'  
  
He smiled devilishly.  
  
'Well, of course she wants to be with me. Can see it in her eyes, every time I'm around. The only problem is that she needs to accept it, her feelings. Gettin' bloody well sick and tired of her bein' so conflicted. One day she'll probably come barging in here, stake in hand, determined to dust me and end her troubles . . . that, or come for a makeout session.'  
  
'Come to think of it . . . I never told her where I'm currently . . . residing.'  
  
A wide grin spread across his face, as he came to a realization.  
  
'That gives -me- all of the power. I can see her whenever I please, and she can't do a bloody thing about it. She'll have to see me, no matter what. In fact . . .'  
  
Grabbing his duster from the floor, he made his way to the cement door.  
  
'I'm in the mood for a little visit.'  
  
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Joyce Summers took the wet rag from the kitchen sink, ringing it out. She patiently wiped the table down, cleaning crumbs that were only discernable to her 'mom' eye. She was only wasting time, she knew. Buffy had told her that she might be over for dinner that night, and Joyce had waited over three hours for her, only to be left feeling very foolish. Waiting on every 'possible' and 'maybe' would only leave her disappointed and with too much spaghetti.  
  
She scrubbed at the table harder, attempting to get out a miniscule red stain left from dinner. The doorbell rang and she dropped the rag back into the sink, drying her hands quickly. She jogged to the door, hoping that it would be her always-tardy daughter. Opening the door, she peered out nervously at the black-clad figure on the stoop.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked, politely.  
  
The nervous young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  
  
"Is Buffy home?"  
  
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To be continued . . .  
  
A/N: Come on, don't you love Joyce/Spike interaction? You know you do . . . so read Chapter 11, coming soon to a theater near you! 


	11. Blood and Chocolate

Disclaimers: None of these wonderful characters are mine, so, umm, I'm sad.  
  
Feedback: Of course, I love it. Gives me a reason to write.  
  
Author's Note: To the people that commented about Joyce knowing Spike: I know that. I'm quite aware of it; I've seen every episode and have a decent memory. Please, believe in me! I just thought that maybe, upon first glance, Joyce wouldn't recognize Spike, that's all. Thanks for all of the wonderful comments, though, I really look forward to reading all of the feedback. All right, in this chap, some Spike/Joyce interaction, and a teensy bit o' Buffy.  
  
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She peered at him through the crack in the door. "You look so familiar," she mused, suddenly remembering where she had seen him before. "You're Buffy's friend, right? The vampire?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, that would be me. Spike, at your service." He fidgeted on the doorstep, not sure what to do. He hadn't really taken Buffy's mother into account.  
  
'Maybe I shouldn't have come here . . .'  
  
"Maybe I shouldn't have come here," he mimicked, avoiding Joyce's curious eyes. "Buffy's not around, is she? 'Cause if she's not, I'll just go back to my crypt, see her some other time."  
  
"Oh, no," Joyce said, "Buffy told me that she'd be coming over later . . .why don't you just wait for her here? It would save you the walk back to your . . . crypt, was it?"  
  
"I don't know . . . you sure you don't mind? Me bein' a vampire and all?"  
  
"Not at all," she replied, "With Buffy around, I've had my share of vampires over, let me tell you." She looked at the fidgety vamp on the doorstep and realized that she hadn't invited him in yet. "Oh," she said, opening the door wider, "won't you come in?"  
  
"Thanks." He stepped inside the house, feeling more than a little awkward. Attempting nonchalance, he took a seat on the couch and crossed his legs.  
  
"Make yourself at home," she said, taking note of Spike's nervousness underneath his cool exterior. "There's food in the fridge if you'd like . . . wait, you don't eat, do you? Besides blood, I mean . . . or hot chocolate," she added, with a twinkle of laughter in her eyes. "Still, there are snacks in the kitchen if you get hungry."  
  
Taking a seat next to Spike, Joyce couldn't help but study the man's face; he looked so lost. As she peered at him inquisitively, he turned his face away from her, uncomfortable with her lingering gaze.  
  
"How are things with your girlfriend?"  
  
"Huh?" he looked over at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Girlfriend?"  
  
"The one we had the chat about the last time I saw you . . . last year, wasn't it? You know, Dre . . . Dra . . . well, her name escapes me at the moment -"  
  
"Drusilla," Spike interrupted.  
  
"Right, Drusilla. Did things work out for you?"  
  
"Oh, that. They did work . . . for a little while. About a month, actually, then she was back to her . . . 'ways'."  
  
"Oh," Joyce replied, unsure of what to say. "Well, sometimes I think it's just . . . better to make a clean break, like you did."  
  
He snorted. "Wasn't my break, Joyce, s'all her idea . . . 'We should see other people' . . . and trust me, I'm usin' the term 'people' loosely. I give, and I give, and I give and I get nothing in return. Not from her, and not from . . . others."  
  
"Well, the world can be a pretty unfair place sometimes," she commiserated.  
  
"As far as I'm concerned, women are the cause of all my problems, 'specially Dru. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have had to come here in the first place. Sunnydale, that's where all of the trouble began. I'd leave, 'cept it's like home to me now, don't got nowhere else to go, you know what I mean? If it weren't for that bloody bint, then I never would have had to leave Czech; I'd still be there, most likely. I liked Prague, y'know? S'a nice place . . . God, I thought that first year here was the worst, but this one takes the cake.  
  
He glanced over at Joyce, who was listening intently to him. Spike felt a warming sensation in the pit of his stomach; no one had ever really listened to him except for her.  
  
'Buffy's lucky to have such a great mum.'  
  
"What happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern, "What made this year so horrible?"  
  
"Right," he said, trying to clear his head, "well, it all started when I came back to Sunnydale. The Gem of Amara, you ever heard of it?" Joyce shook her head. "Figured as much. It's this stone that, when worn by a vampire, makes 'em invulnerable. You could stake 'em, toss 'em out into the sun, hell, even give 'em a bath in holy water, and nothing would come of it, as long as they had it on. Yeah, well, I found it. Let me tell you, that was one of the happiest days of my unlife . . . at least the first few hours were. Then I made the mistake of tryin' to take down the Slayer."  
  
"Buffy," she murmured to herself.  
  
"Right, Buffy. Well, long story short, she kicked my ass all over town and stole it from me, which was a might bit depressing, having spent so many months searching for it. She sent the gem to Peaches, so I went to LA to find it. Yeah, that didn't work out either . . . not at all."  
  
"Peaches?" Joyce asked, confused.  
  
"Oh, you probably know him as Angel." Spike hated saying the name, and made a mental note to wash his mouth out as soon as he got back to his crypt.  
  
"So, anyway, after that botched attempt, I came back to Sunnydale . . . like I told you, just can't stay away from this place. I was plottin', well . . . something not so nice for Buffy, but of course that went to hell, like all of my plans do. I was attacked by a bunch of commandos; knocked me out cold, they did. Woke up in some sort of laboratory with a bunch of other guinea pigs. They did all kinds of experiments on us . . . but I managed to escape. A little worse for wear, unfortunately."  
  
"What happened to you?"  
  
"The soldiers, scientists . . . whoever did the experiments, put this bloody thing in my head. Won't let me feed."  
  
"So . . . you can't eat anything?" she queried.  
  
"No, no, I can eat. Just not like I normally do. I can't kill anything; can't even hit people." He buried his head in the palm of his hands, feeling miserable. He didn't realize how pathetic the whole situation sounded until he said it out loud. "I'm a worthless excuse for a vampire."  
  
"Don't say that," Joyce said, sympathetically. "Just because you can't kill anymore doesn't mean that you can't do a lot of other things."  
  
He peered up at her through his fingers. "Like what?"  
  
"You could . . . well . . . you could help Mr. Giles with research," she finished, lamely.  
  
Spike groaned. "I'm not going to be some librarian's assistant! Just 'cause I'm helpless doesn't mean that I'm going to turn into some nancy boy! Besides . . . don't even like Rupert. He's a . . . a poncy bugger," he finished, halfheartedly. "I just . . . I don't know what to do, Joyce."  
  
She gave him a reassuring pat on the knee. "We'll think of something."  
  
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The car pulled up to the large, familiar house and Buffy stepped out.  
  
"Thanks for giving me a ride, Xander, I owe ya," she said, slamming the door shut.  
  
'I owe Giles, I owe Xander . . .who don't I owe?' Buffy mused as she walked towards the front door. She was about to knock when she heard the voices coming from inside of her house . . . '-Two- voices. I recognize mom and . . . that can't be who I think it is.'  
  
She rang the doorbell and listened to the steadily approaching footsteps. Her mother opened the door, a grin on her face.  
  
"Buffy, you came," she said, sounding quite happy to see her daughter. Buffy felt a pang of guilt and promised herself to come see her mother more often.  
  
"Yeah, uh, I'm sorry that I was so late, something came up . . ." She peered over her mother's shoulder, trying to see into the living room. "I, um, I thought I heard voices coming from inside the house . . . more than one. Do you have visitors over?"  
  
"Oh, no, your friend Spike dropped by, he's been looking for you. We've been chatting for the past half-hour . . . I was wondering if you were ever going to show up. He's been lovely company, and . . ."  
  
"Spike?" Buffy pushed past her mother and into the empty living room. "Spike? Where are you?"  
  
Joyce entered the house and looked around, confused. "He was just here a minute ago . . ."  
  
The kitchen curtains fluttered and Buffy realized, for the first time, that the window had been opened.  
  
'Thinks he can get away that easily, does he?'  
  
"I think I know where I can find him . . . I'll just be gone a minute."  
  
And with that, Buffy stormed out of the house and into the night.  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	12. Talk

Disclaimers: If this were mine, I'd be rich, I tell you, rich!  
  
Feedback: I really, really, really appreciate every piece of feedback I get. As long as it's positive.  
  
Author's Note: Sorry that this chapter took so friggin' long . . . but I've been rather large on the stress lately, and when you get home at eight at night, you don't really feel like writing, you know? All right, in this chapter, Spike grows a pair. A real, honest to God pair! Hope you enjoy . . . and remember to stick it to the man, man.  
  
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He ran through the cemetery, dodging the tombstones and upturned tree roots, making sure not to trip. The foreboding crypt loomed in the distance, and he gave a small sigh of relief.  
  
'Home, sweet crypt,' he thought wearily, as he opened the concrete door and stepped into his musty resting-place. Closing the door firmly, he loped over to the living room recliner and slumped onto it, relishing the feeling of the soft cushions against his aching muscles. He sat for a moment, closing his eyes, enjoying the quiet.  
  
'Ponce.'  
  
Spike shook his head in disgust, running his fingers over his scalp, detangling the mass of bleached-blonde waves.  
  
'I'm in the mood for a little visit, you said. Take the time to walk to her place, sit down, have a little chat with her mother . . . and then you high tail it when she shows up. You sicken me.'  
  
"Yeah, well, what was I supposed to do? Let her find me there, on the couch, sippin' a nice cup o' cocoa with her mum? Don't be a stupid git."  
  
'Oh, and it's so much better for her to walk in and find that, not only were you in her house without her permission, but you ran away as soon as she came home. Through the kitchen window, no less! Real manly there, Spike. Show the girl who's boss.'  
  
"I don't -need- permission," he huffed angrily, "I do what I damn well please. And I didn't go there to show her who's boss, I came there to . . . well, maybe I did, but that wasn't the whole reason. I wanted Buffy to know that I'm the one in control of our little . . . situation. I'm not her whipping boy, you know."  
  
Spike was vaguely aware that this conversation he was having with himself was a trifle odd, and that had anyone walked in at the moment, they would have thought him daft. No matter.  
  
'Then don't let yourself be! Stand up for once, you worthless nancy boy . . . look at you, you can't even defend yourself against your own mind. Pathetic, s'what you are.'  
  
"I'm not pathetic," he mumbled, resting his head in the palm of his hands, "I'm in love. I can't just -"  
  
The door to the crypt slammed open and the words stuck in his throat. The door collided with the wall of the room, a loud boom resounding throughout the residence. Spike leapt from the chair and spun on his heels, turning to face whomever it was that had broken in and disturbed his train of thought.  
  
"What the hell were you doing at my house?!"  
  
The furious Slayer stood at the entrance, her hands placed on her hips in a gesture of annoyance.  
  
"I-" Spike started, only to be cut off once more.  
  
"What gives you the right to come over to -my- house when I'm not there and talk to my mother? How dare you!"  
  
"Now listen, I-"  
  
"I can't even trust you not to barge in on my personal life, in my house, when I'm not around! I can't believe you! You stupid, worthless, selfish little -"  
  
"Hey, now, that's not -"  
  
"Fair? It's more than fair! You deserve a lot worse than that after you -"  
  
"Bloody hell, Slayer," he yelled, "can't I get a word in edgewise?"  
  
She stood still, panting, her face beet red. She glared at him, her eyes narrowing in contempt.  
  
"Doesn't feel so good being interrupted, does it? I'm so sorry that I barged in on your precious personal life, because you're always respecting my privacy, you know."  
  
"It's different with me. You're an -"  
  
"Evil, soulless thing, I know. You've told me a million times, Slayer, gets old."  
  
Spike sighed, burying his hands in his duster's pockets and turning his face to the floor.  
  
"I wasn't going to do anything, Buffy, I just came to . . . see you. That's all. I was gonna leave but your mum invited me in, told me to stay and wait for you. And the fact that I fled, out of the window not less, says more about you than it does me. But I'm glad you're here . . . we need to talk."  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed.  
  
"So? Talk already."  
  
"All right, then. We kissed tonight, you know it and I know it. No use denying things, Slayer. There is something between us. What I want to know is what."  
  
"What, what?"  
  
"What is there between us . . . to you, I mean. What do I mean to you?"  
  
"I . . ." she shook her head, flustered, "I don't know."  
  
"That's not an answer, Buffy, I want the truth."  
  
"I'm telling you the truth. I just . . . I'm confused. I don't know what to feel. When you kissed me . . ." she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "When we kissed, it was . . . nice. Really nice, but you're . . . we couldn't work. I don't think we could, I mean . . . God, do I have to talk about this?"  
  
He raised one eyebrow questioningly. "What do you think?"  
  
"Fine. Bottom line; I don't know." Buffy stuck out her lower lip, pouting. "Can't we just keep it at the kissing? I'm okay with the kissing." She leaned towards him, intending to capture his lips within hers, but he pushed her away warily, his face stoic.  
  
"I can't do this. Until you're sure . . . you know what you feel, what you want, I can't do this. It's not fair to you, and it's certainly not fair to me. No playing tiddlywinks with my feelings, pet, s'not allowed. I really do love you, and I . . . can't do this until you're ready to be with me, heart and soul." He paused, his eyes tracing her features, attempting to read her expression. "You understand, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I . . . I understand. Not really with the tiddlywinks comment, but yeah, I get the gist of it. I'm gonna, um, I'm gonna go. Mom's expecting me."  
  
She took shaky steps towards the door, her face pale and drawn.  
  
"Buffy? Have a nice night, all right?"  
  
"Yeah . . . you, too."  
  
And with that, she left.  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	13. Mom

Disclaimers: Not mine, never was, nor will it ever be.  
  
Feedback: I really do enjoy all of the feedback that I receive. Makes me happy.  
  
Author's Note: Yes, I told you that Spike would be getting his rocks back, and he did! Really, he won't come back to Buffy like he did in season six (man, did that piss me off), and he will retain his dignity. Honestly. This chapter is all Buffy/Joyce interaction, more Spike to come in later chapters. And don't worry, this chapter is generally angst-less.  
  
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Buffy placed her hand over the cold, metal doorknob and turned tentatively. A warm rush of air from the living room welcomed her as she entered. Joyce was sitting on the couch, wringing her hands together, and looking quite the nervous wreck. Buffy cleared her throat and Joyce glanced over at her, standing up, her eyes filled with expectation.  
  
"Oh, Buffy, it's you. I was starting to worry that you'd run into some trouble . . . did you find Spike?"  
  
"Yeah, I found him," she mumbled, "Kinda wish I hadn't."  
  
"Did you find out why he ran off so quickly? I thought he wanted to talk to you . . . that's what he came for. I was very conf -"  
  
"No, no, he . . . um . . ." Buffy ran her hands through her hair, attempting to calm her nerves, "That didn't really come up in our - our conversation. We were both kind of on edge, and . . ." she trailed off, unsure of what to say.  
  
"What's the matter, Buffy?" Joyce queried, breaking the silence, "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Nothing's wrong, mom, I just -"  
  
"Buffy." She took her daughter's trembling hand in her own, studying her face. "I can tell there's something bothering you . . . it doesn't take a genius to figure it out."  
  
Buffy sat silently, thinking, her face turned to the floor. Joyce dropped her hand and sat back down on the sofa.  
  
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just feel that sometimes it helps to get what's bothering you off of your chest . . ."  
  
"It's not me!" Buffy blurted out, her cheeks flushing crimson, "I mean, it's not me that I'm worried about," she continued, "it's a friend. A friend of mine. She has this problem . . ."  
  
She slumped onto the couch next to her mother, sighing heavily.  
  
"She . . . she likes this guy. He's also a . . . friend, kind of. I mean, I guess he's a friend, I haven't really considered it . . ." she paused, taking a deep breath, continuing, "He's totally wrong for her; everyone knows that. Hell," she scoffed, "even she knows it. But . . . he's also right at the same time." She rolled her eyes. "God, am I even making sense?"  
  
"You're fine, honey. Go on."  
  
"So . . . they used to be enemies. Fighting all of the time and, hey, things were easier for her then. She knew just what to say and how to act and -react- around this guy . . ."  
  
Joyce raised a slim eyebrow in suspicion.  
  
"Or, um, so I'm told," Buffy stammered, "I mean, we were talking about this the other night, so I - I guess that's why it's on my mind."  
  
"So . . . it hasn't been an issue since just now? Their feelings?"  
  
"Well . . . there were signs."  
  
"Signs?"  
  
"You could . . . tell that there was something between them. The way that they looked at each other and especially how he acted around her when it was just the two of them . . . um, she told me about that, too. No one else seemed to notice, but it seemed so obvious to her."  
  
"What brought it up?" Joyce asked. "The subject of your friend and your . . . other friend? Why was that the right time to talk to you about it?"  
  
"They kissed."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah . . . last night. She - she called me right afterwards, all confused about her feelings, needing my help."  
  
"You said that they were enemies, your two friends. Why did they . . . what happened that changed all of that?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, well . . . something happened that brought the two of them together. An act of God, I guess you could call it," she snickered, "though I doubt God would have had anything to do with it. He needed to be helped . . . sort of, and so I - she," Buffy covered quickly, blushing furiously, "took him in. Can't turn down the weak and helpless, that's the way she is. All noble like that."  
  
"So after she took him in, then what happened?" she asked.  
  
"Things just started falling into place. She realized that he wasn't such a bad guy after all, and he . . . he started liking her too, I guess. Can't really get into his head . . . unless you have a truth spell," she murmured, under her breath.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Nothing, I was just thinking to myself. So things kind of . . . escalated. He finally admitted his feelings to her, and she, well, freaked is a way of putting it lightly. Ran away only to come back the next day to find him gone, moved to God knows where."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Well, she runs into him later that night . . . or rather, he runs into her. They argue a little, flirt a little, and she ends up kissing him. She runs away again, and, well, that's the last time she's seen him."  
  
"She doesn't seem very emotionally stable."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Your friend. She seems like she has . . . issues. Running away from him twice because she can't face her own feelings . . . come to think of it, it doesn't really seem too fair to him, either."  
  
"No! He's the one with the issues, not her! He thinks that they can be together, although he knows damn well that they can't because he's . . . unemployed," she lied, blushing crimson at the lameness of her cover-up, "and she would, um, -never- be with someone that's unemployed. It goes against everything she fights for." She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Besides, she's had a bad experience with deadbeats in the past."  
  
"She fights against unemployment?" Joyce asked, her voice filled with good- natured humor.  
  
"Yeah, she works for the government, handing out welfare checks. She, uh, doesn't believe in wasting our tax money."  
  
"Can't he just get a job?"  
  
"It's not that easy," she groaned, sighing, "it's never that easy. It doesn't matter if it feels right; it goes against her nature. Besides, what would her friends think? I can tell you, they'd hate it. Probably think he'd have cast some kind of spell on her. You might not think it, but her friend's opinions matter a lot to her."  
  
"What does her mother think?" Joyce queried.  
  
"Huh?" Buffy looked up at her.  
  
"I said, what does her mother think?"  
  
"Oh, uh, I, um . . . I don't know. That didn't really come up in our . . . chat. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well, I think you've made it pretty clear that this girlfriend of yours feels something for that, um, boy, but doesn't want to act on her emotions because her close friends wouldn't approve. Would it make a difference if her, oh, say, mother approved?" Joyce said, a sly twinkle in her eyes.  
  
"I - I, err, it might make a difference. Maybe her mom's seen a different side of him than she has," Buffy said, realization dawning on her, "he usually plays the macho card when he's around people. Especially her."  
  
"Listen, Buffy, it's not her mother's decision whether she dates him or not, nor is it her friend's decision. You need to tell your friend to make up her own mind, be her own person. I know how hard it can be to go against your friend's wishes, but she really does need to make relationship decisions on her own. To follow her heart," she said, patting her daughter's hand lovingly, "She won't be happy until she does."  
  
Buffy considered this for a moment before drawing her mother into a hug. "Thanks, mom, that's good advice." She pulled away, smiling slightly. "You're one smart lady."  
  
"You're welcome, Buffy. Now, if you don't mind, this smart lady's going to retire to her bedroom."  
  
"So soon?" Buffy asked, pouting, "I thought we could stay up and talk."  
  
"Soon?" Joyce smiled, pointing to the kitchen clock, "It's almost three in the morning, sweetie. I know I'm no college student, but isn't three still considered late?"  
  
"I think it's early, technically," Buffy teased, standing up and heading for the door, "I should get going to; I'd like to have a few hours to sleep before classes . . . or a few hours to write that paper, at least."  
  
She hugged her mother once more before opening the front door and allowing the chilly night air to wake her up. "Good night, mom, thanks for taking the time to talk to me. I appreciate it."  
  
"Don't mention it. Isn't that what moms are for?"  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	14. Pathetic

Disclaimers: None of this is mine, unfortunately. If it were, there would be a lot more Spike shower scenes in BtVS.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please.  
  
Author's Note: So sorry that this chapter took so friggin' long, and that's it's so SHORT! I've been rehearsing for Oliver! every day until 8:30 and I really am not in the writing mood. Anyway . . . I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful comments; it really makes me feel good about my writing and truly does help me write faster. If I don't get any reviews, I sob for hours on end. Okay, just kidding there. Anyway, this chapter will have more Buffy, as well as Spike . . . I wouldn't keep you Spike deprived for too long. So, (hopefully) enjoy!  
  
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It had been two weeks since she had last seen him, the two longest weeks of her entire existence. At least it felt that way to Buffy. There had been times when she had been tempted to run to Spike's crypt, say that she loved him, and give him a hug. But she realized that she couldn't; life is never that simple, as she said so herself. Buffy thought (and after two weeks of mulling it over, it started to sound normal) that she really did care for Spike. Was it love? She sure as hell didn't know, but whatever she it was, it was strong. The feelings she had, at times, threatened to overwhelm her, and she had to sit down and take a breather. The 'talk' that she had had with her mother had been an eye-opener, to both herself and Joyce, but still hadn't solved her problem.  
  
'Is it love?'  
  
That was the question of the week (or weeks), the dire problem with only two solutions, as Buffy could see it. Either she did, in fact, love Spike and would tell him, resulting in romance and lots of smoochies, or she could say that she didn't, and in this scenario, he would leave Sunnydale, never to return. The thought of the latter gave Buffy the chills.  
  
'But there are other possibilities,' she reminded herself, 'He doesn't have to leave. We could . . . stay friends, just good friends. Or . . . I could say that I don't love him and he's so distraught that he stakes himself.'  
  
She groaned, burying her head in the palm of her hands, entwining strands of hair around her slim fingers. 'Don't be so melodramatic, Buffy,' she thought, 'he wouldn't -kill- himself. His whole life doesn't revolve around you; just . . . keep telling yourself that and you'll be fine. You need to make this decision by yourself, for yourself; mom said as much! I have to do what's right for me . . . even if it does crush Spike's heart.'  
  
Buffy groaned again in frustration, pressing her fingertips against her temple in a hope to alleviate the pounding in her skull. No such luck. She craned her neck up as soon as the phone rang, her head throbbing harder in protest of the shrill noise. Buffy picked herself up off of her bed slowly, making her way to the phone across the room. It rang again and she wobbled over to it, her legs shaky from sitting for a number of hours. She picked the phone up before it had the chance to ring again, cradling the receiver between her shoulder and ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Buffy, it's Giles. I need you to come down to my house immediately for a meeting. From my research, I've gathered that something big is coming. Something evil."  
  
She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.  
  
'Just what I need.'  
  
"Couldn't I just -"  
  
"Buffy," he interrupted, "it's of the utmost importance. Willow and Xander are already . . ." he trailed off, and she could hear a voice pipe up in the background. He sighed, and resumed speaking, "Yes, Anya, I was just about to tell her that you were here. Buffy, it's of the utmost importance that you -"  
  
"Save the spiel for someone that hasn't heard it fifty million times. Slayer equals keen responsibility and no fun. I'll be right over."  
  
She slammed the phone back onto it's cradle, feeling very much in a sour mood. Buffy wanted to stamp her feet in frustration, but knew that it wasn't the time to throw a tantrum. She had to be the adult and go see what Big Bad was stirring up in Sunnydale.  
  
'Why can't someone else be the 'chosen one' for a change? Can't a girl sulk in peace?'  
  
Grabbing her coat, she left the dorm, but not before making sure to slam the door extra hard on the way out.  
  
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An old black and white horror picture was playing on the television; the actor's mouths moving wordlessly, as if in a silent movie. Spike sat on the dusty bed, tracing his index finger around a spring that was protruding from the thin mattress material. He sighed; taking a sip from the mug of pig's blood, finding that he had already drank it all. Glancing down at the empty cup, he dipped one finger onto the cup's edge, collecting some of the liquid that had gathered there. He took his finger out and placed it in his mouth, sucking on it until it was clean, and then repeated the action.  
  
'Pathetic,' he told himself, 'Sitting here waiting for Buffy to show up, although you damn well know that she's not gonna come. You've been waiting for two weeks, get out and kill something already!'  
  
"I can't," he whined to himself, "I've got this chip in my head, and I can't hurt anything. Not a bloody thing. Might as well be a vegetable."  
  
'At least vegetables don't sit around and mope all day,' he chastised himself, 'that's all you do anymore . . . scourge of Europe, reduced to a simpering little git. Sad.'  
  
"Look, I did what's best, tellin' her to find her own way . . . it was the right thing to do. The right thing," he repeated, in hopes of convincing himself, "And I won't have you, err, me, telling me otherwise."  
  
'But didn't you want her to stay? Don't you enjoy being with her?'  
  
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.  
  
"Course I do, but that's not the point. It's healthier for both of us if we just . . . go our separate ways 'till she can figure herself out. 'Sides," he said, narrowing his eyes and nothing, "why are you pushing me? What are you, the devil on my shoulder? Where's the angel?"  
  
'You haven't got an angel; you're a vampire.'  
  
"Why am I talkin' to myself?" he said to no one in particular, "Maybe bein' holed up in this crypt is drivin' me round the bend. That'd be great," he scoffed, "Buffy comes to see me and I'm a soddin' looney toon."  
  
'So go out and get some fresh air,' he urged himself, 'Go to the Bronze or to Willy's. Just do something!'  
  
"Alright," he said, his voice filled with false confidence, "I'll do it. Tonight, I'll do it."  
  
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The car pulled up to the drive and Buffy stepped out onto the curb. Sighing, she walked up to the front steps of the house and rang the doorbell. She listened to the ringing echo throughout the house and waited patiently for the door to open. And waited. She knocked on the door, a knot of worry forming in the pit of her stomach. A few minutes later she knocked again, only to find the door creak open at her touch.  
  
'It's unlocked? Why would Giles . . .' She stepped into the house to find it dark, empty.  
  
'What the hell?'  
  
"Guys, where are you?" she called nervously. "Giles? Willow? Xander? Anya?"  
  
Her fingers fumbled for the light switch but she stopped once she heard it. Shallow breathing, accompanied by shuffling noises.  
  
'Someone's in the house . . . and they've done something to my friends.'  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	15. Surprise

Disclaimers: This isn't mine, not at all. Though I wish it were.  
  
Feedback: Everyone that gives me feedback can have a cookie. The double chocolate chip kind.  
  
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for their kind comments. I feel so evil for leaving all of you at a cliffhanger like that, but it had to be done. Because . . . umm, I'm sick and twisted and like to make you suffer (but not for too long). Enjoy the upcoming Spuffiness!  
  
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She listened intently, running her hands over the wall in an attempt to find the light switch.  
  
'Aha!' she thought, as her fingers hit the switch on the wall. She flicked it on immediately, a bright yellow light flooding the room.  
  
A loud: "Surprise!" echoed throughout the house as her four friends jumped up from behind the living room couch, grinning widely.  
  
"Ah!" she cried, stepping backwards and tripping over the table in the middle of the living room.  
  
Willow ran over to her, worry on her face, reaching a hand out to help Buffy up.  
  
"Buffy, are you okay?"  
  
Her hands shook as she brushed the hair out of her face.  
  
"Wh-what were you guys doing?" she asked, her voice shaking, "Why were y- you waiting like that?"  
  
Willow frowned, furrowing her brow. "Don't you remember what day it is?"  
  
Buffy sat up, rubbing her sore backside. "What, 'Give Buffy a heart attack' day?  
  
"Is that a holiday?" Anya queried.  
  
"Buffy . . . it's your birthday."  
  
She arched a slender eyebrow, confused. "Huh? Are you sure it's my birthday? I think I would've remembered that."  
  
Xander turned to her. "It's been on the calendar for weeks, Buff. Granted, we've only been planning this for days, but still . . . you really don't remember your own birthday?"  
  
Buffy blushed, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "I-I guess not, if it really is my birthday today. My mind has kind of been . . . preoccupied."  
  
"Are you okay, Buffy? You've been acting pretty strange lately. Spacey."  
  
"I'm fine. I mean . . . college is stressful. But things are getting better, I think."  
  
Willow smiled warily. "Okay, as long as you're all right. And, um, sorry about that almost giving you a heart attack thing."  
  
She smiled back, trying not to show her shock at not remembering her own birthday. "Well, I see balloons, and streamers, and cake . . . but where's the presents? I don't see any . . . I guess they could be really small. And good things come in small packages: money, jewelry . . . Buffy."  
  
Xander grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We all figured that since Giles' place isn't exactly party central that we'd move it on over to the Bronze. Your presents are there."  
  
Her face lit up in a genuine smile; she had wanted to spend some quality time with her friends, lately, where she could just forget her troubles for an hour or two. "Dance party? I'm all for it . . . just let me get my coat."  
  
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They showed up at the Bronze at 9 p.m., and it was packed. The dance floor was jam-packed with a sea of writhing, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding to the dance music provided by the live band.  
  
Xander led the way to a corner booth behind a table covered with presents. Buffy grinned, sitting lightly on the cracked red vinyl.  
  
"Are these all for me?"  
  
Xander smiled sheepishly. "Well, Anya did want to take about half of them for herself, but-"  
  
"Hey!" Anya squealed, jabbing Xander in the chest with her elbow. "You promised not to talk about that!"  
  
Buffy grabbed the first present next to her, and shook it roughly.  
  
"So, what's in here?"  
  
A sound of broken glass tinkled and she set the present down, embarrassed.  
  
"I guess I'll just save that one for last."  
  
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After all of the presents had been opened, Buffy sat in the afterglow of the unwrapping fury. She smiled at her friends and at the pile of new things next to her.  
  
"Everything's so great, you guys, thank you. This is the best birthday I've ever had without knowing I was having a birthday!"  
  
"Come again?" Xander asked, confused.  
  
"I think that means she had a good time," Willow said, smiling. "And I'm glad that you liked it."  
  
"But you know, all of that present opening made me thirsty. I'm gonna go get a drink. Anyone want anything?" Buffy asked.  
  
She made her way to the Bronze's bar to make her order, taking a seat on the barstool. The skinny bartender turned to her, placing her hands on her hips.  
  
"Whadda ya want?" she asked, grumpily.  
  
"Umm, two Cokes and a Mountain Dew."  
  
The woman turned her back to her, grumbling something about 'damn teenagers'. Buffy sighed, tapping her fingers on the counter impatiently.  
  
"Rough night?" came the question from the man next to her, the one sipping from a dull silver flask.  
  
"Look, I really don't feel like . . . Spike!" She yipped, finally having gotten a glimpse of the man's face. The chiseled cheekbones and striking hair were unmistakable.  
  
He grinned at her before taking another swig. "Don't look so shocked, luv."  
  
"W-what are you doing here? Are you stalking me?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretting them.  
  
Spike's mood soured at her accusation, and he turned away from her.  
  
"I -have- a life outside of you, you know. Just 'cause I happen to be in the same place at the same time, doesn't mean that I'm followin' you. S'not like you found me hangin' around your house or something."  
  
"Right, I-"  
  
"And -I- was the one that said we should get some space. So why would I be stalkin' you now? Doesn't make any bloody sense, if you really think about it."  
  
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry."  
  
Spike arched his eyebrow; Buffy could practically hear the gears in his brain working.  
  
"So what are -you- doing here?" he asked, finally, "Maybe you're the one doin' the fatal attraction bit."  
  
"It's my birthday." She said, shrugging. "I'm celebrating."  
  
"Really? So how olds' the birthday girl? Late thirties?" He teased.  
  
"No!" she squeaked, "I'm nineteen!"  
  
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just sayin' . . . you must've had a hard life, if you're only nineteen and you look like -that-. What with all the wrinkles around the eyes."  
  
"Oh, yeah, keep talking, old man," she countered, "Is that a bald-patch I see? Yes . . . all that bleach must be killing your follicles."  
  
Spike's eyes widened, as he groped at his hair. "What? Where?"  
  
Buffy barely restrained a giggle, her mouth curved up into a smile. His eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hands to his side. "Right, right. Very funny, you got me. Make jokes at the vampire with no reflection."  
  
"Ah, you're no fun," she pouted, "Play the reflection card and get me feeling all guilty."  
  
They sat in awkward silence, Buffy staring into her red, plastic cup of Coke, watching the bubbles rise and pop at the surface. Spike cleared his throat, fingering the flask.  
  
"I've missed you," he said, finally.  
  
"I - I've missed you, too," she choked out, surprised at her words.  
  
"You did?" He asked, arching his eyebrow.  
  
"Yeah . . . I guess I did."  
  
The band began playing a slow song and Buffy found her gaze wandering to the drinks. 'Drinks . . . oh, man, they must be wondering where I went. I should've returned ten minutes ago!'  
  
"Look, Spike, I've gotta -"  
  
"I understand, Slayer," Spike said, not bothering to look up from the counter. "You've got friends to tend to."  
  
She rised herself off of the vinyl barstool, balancing the cups in her arms.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
She turned to look at Spike, who was still sitting with his head down.  
  
"Happy birthday."  
  
Buffy looked down at the drinks in her hands, and set them on the counter. 'It's not like they're going to go flat if I leave them for a minute.'  
  
"Spike?"  
  
He turned to her, his face questioning.  
  
"May I have this dance?"  
  
Spike looked confused, his eyes cloudy. "But I thought we were going to -"  
  
"Dancing doesn't constitute kissing, does it? Besides," she added, "it's my birthday. This could be your present to me."  
  
He nodded, getting out of his seat and taking Buffy's out-stretched hand, leading her to the dance floor.  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	16. Good Night

Disclaimers: This isn't mine, and I don't steal. Often.  
  
Feedback: As you can see, it's what keeps me writing. I write for the readers.  
  
Author's Note: Oh, boy! It's the sixteenth installment of 'Musical Chairs'! Aren't your little hearts pounding with anticipation? No? You say that you don't get that excited over stupid fan fiction? Oh, okay, fine then. This chapter has more B/S interaction that we all desire (at least the intelligent people desire) and some surprises. So relax, pull up a chair, and take a gander. But don't slouch, it's bad for your posture.  
  
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He led her to the dance floor, and she couldn't help but notice how cold his hand was against hers. It didn't bother her, however; it wasn't a bad kind of chill.  
  
'Chill of death,' she thought, but brushed it aside. 'It's my birthday, and I should do what I want. Death be damned.'  
  
The slow, melodic tune played softly as couples swayed in time with the music. As he took Buffy into his arms, she couldn't help but appreciate the strength of his muscles.  
  
'God, do I sound like a preening little git, or what?' She blushed heavily at her thought. 'No way did I just use British slang! Too much Spike on the brain, I guess.'  
  
Buffy leaned in closer to him, closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder.  
  
'Perfect fit,' she thought, 'I could get used to this.'  
  
She found herself entranced by the rhythm of the music, and closed her eyes in contentment. As soon as Spike pulled away her eyelids snapped open, as she realized the song was over. The band had moved on to a fast dance number reminiscent of swing music. She looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes.  
  
"Song's over, luv," he said, his hands still holding hers.  
  
"I know," she replied, "Just got lost in the moment, I guess."  
  
He shifted his weight back and forth nervously. "So . . ."  
  
"Yeah. I should . . ."  
  
"Yeah." He looked down and, realizing he was still holding onto her hands, dropped them quickly. "Sorry. Guess you kind of need those back."  
  
Buffy rubbed her hands gently, smiling. "Well, I didn't mind them so much where they were." Sighing, she glanced over at the bar. "But I really should be getting back. My friends probably think that I'm dead or something."  
  
She stood on her tiptoes until she could reach Spike's face. Buffy smiled, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Spike. Thanks for making this birthday . . . memorable."  
  
He smiled at this, making his way to the bar and picking his duster off of the stool. "Goodnight, pet. And don't mention it."  
  
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Willow picked up a shred of wrapping paper from the table, crumpling it into a small ball. Drawing her hand back, she took aim for the garbage can ten feet from where she was seated. She released the ball, and all three of them watched as it hit the rim and fell on the steadily growing mound of paper at the side.  
  
"I'm bored," Anya whined, looking up at Xander, "And I'm thirsty. Where's my diet Coke?"  
  
Xander rolled his eyes, annoyed. "What, do I look like I'm hiding it somewhere? Buffy's the one getting the drinks. Speaking of which," he added, "where is she, anyway? The bar's not that busy."  
  
Willow sighed, picking apart a bow with her fingers. "I don't know . . . maybe she had to go to the bathroom."  
  
"Yeah, or maybe she decided to get the soda directly from the factory," Xander scoffed. Bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the bright fluorescent lights of the dance floor, he surveyed the room, but finding no trace of Buffy.  
  
"We haven't been ignoring her, so she couldn't have gone Marcy . . . could she?" Willow asked, her eyes filled with sudden worry.  
  
"I'm sure she's fine, Will," Xander said, in hopes of comforting his distraught friend, "She's probably out getting the drinks as we -"  
  
"I see her!" Anya piped up, pointing out into the crowd of people. "She's dancing."  
  
"Are you sure?" Willow asked, scanning the room. "Would she really just leave us to dance with some cutie?"  
  
"That's Spike!" Xander screeched, his eyes growing wide with disbelief, "She's dancing with Spike!"  
  
"Huh? Huh?!" Willow repeated, having finally spotted her friend on the dance floor, "What - but - she - I - what is she doing?"  
  
"She's dancing," Anya said, rolling her eyes, "I think it's pretty obvious." She stared at the couple on the floor, smiling wistfully. "They look like they're enjoying themselves."  
  
"No! No, no, no, no, no!" Xander said, still shocked, "It's gotta be a spell! Thrall, that's it! She's under his thrall!"  
  
"Does Spike have thrall?" Willow queried.  
  
"Well, obviously! Look at Buffy, having to dance with that peroxide fiend; and on her birthday, even!"  
  
"It doesn't look like she's complaining to me," Anya said, smiling, "Why don't you ever dance with me like that, Xander? It looks like fun."  
  
"Because I'm not evil!" he spat out, scowling, pushing his chair away and standing up, "And I'm going to put a stop to this."  
  
"No need," Anya said, "The song's over. But don't worry, sweetie; I'm sure you can be needlessly heroic some other day."  
  
They watched, stunned, as Buffy pulled away from Spike, smiling coyly, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Xander stood there with his jaw to the floor as Willow looked away, her eyes wide.  
  
"I told they were enjoying themselves."  
  
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Buffy made her way over to the bar and picked up the three soft drinks that were now lukewarm. 'They won't notice,' she thought, balancing the cups in her hands as she walked over to the table she had been occupying. Setting the drinks down on the counter, she glanced up her three friends and stopped in her tracks.  
  
They were all staring at her; Xander, with an expression of horror on his face, Willow, who looked quite confused, and Anya, who was grinning happily.  
  
"Jeez, guys," Buffy said, chuckling nervously, "What happened since I left?"  
  
"Spike!" Xander blurted out, "We saw you dancing with Spike! Why? For the love of God, why?"  
  
Buffy blushed, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. "Well . . . um . . . I did. So what?"  
  
"You and Spike aren't exactly . . . best friends," Willow said.  
  
"It's disgusting!" Xander said, angrily, "It's Spike!"  
  
"Spike is -not- disgusting!" Buffy said, perhaps a little too loudly, and she blushed even harder. "I mean, I had fun, and it's my birthday, and I can do whatever the hell I want. And, God, Xander, we were just -dancing-; it's not like you caught us making out or something."  
  
"Oh, oh God, no!" Xander cried, pressing his hands up against his ears. "That's a visual I really don't need right now!"  
  
"What's your problem, Xander?" Buffy asked, placing her hands on her hips angrily.  
  
"It's just . . .we're worried about you, Buffy. You and Spike aren't normally . . . so friendly. We just want to make sure that nothing's going on and that . . . you know what you're doing," Willow piped in.  
  
"What I'm doing?" Buffy asked incredulously. "I was -dancing-! Don't you think you guys are overreacting just a little? Spike didn't have to put a spell or something on me to just get him to dance with him; he's not that pathetic."  
  
"Oh, I beg to differ," Xander said, shaking his head.  
  
"You know what? I - I can't deal with this right now," Buffy said, grabbing her coat off of her chair and tugging it on. "Until you're willing to talk to me rationally, Xander, I don't . . . I just don't know."  
  
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Spike left the Bronze, sauntering down the alleyway. It had been a great night, he thought, and was glad that he had pushed himself to get out of the crypt. And meeting up with Buffy, dancing . . . it had been a ray of hope in an otherwise bleak two weeks.  
  
'Maybe she really does love me . . .'  
  
"Spike."  
  
Stopping in his tracks, Spike turned to see who had called his voice. He found, however, that he was alone.  
  
"Who's there? Buffy?"  
  
"Spike, come here."  
  
Arching his eyebrow in suspicion, Spike followed the sound of the voice, warily. The person (whoever it was) that was calling to him was in the alley next to the Bronze, and Spike approached it cautiously. 'This is a set up,' his inner voice told him, 'Don't do it, you idiot, don't go in that alley. Just walk away.'  
  
Spike knew, however, that if he ignored the voice that it would bother him for the rest of the night. He had to find out who was calling him. He stepped lightly and carefully as he entered the alleyway, searching in the dark for the person that had been calling to him.  
  
"Who's the-"  
  
The sentence was cut off as Spike was tackled and knocked into the hard cement floor. He groaned, feeling quite stupid, and rolled over to face his opponents. He attempted to lift his legs and get up, but found that several supernaturally strong enemies were pinning him down. Struggling to get free, his eyes widened worriedly as a tire iron was raised over his head. It smashed down on his head; it was the last thing he saw before everything went black.  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	17. Wicked

Disclaimers: If this were mine, I wouldn't need disclaimers.  
  
Feedback: I love it . . . as long as it's not a flame.  
  
Author's Note: Did I mention how much I love everyone that reads this and reviews it? It makes my day to get good reviews, and makes it worth writing! Anyhow, sorry for taking so friggin' long to update this time, but I was really busy and . . . okay, let me level with you. I haven't been in the mood to write for a while, but am doing it anyway, for you guys. I didn't really want to write this chapter, but I have. It's done then. Hope you're grateful.  
  
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Buffy shrugged her coat over her shoulders, half-running, half-walking out of the Bronze.  
  
'Well, this night's been . . . fun. No hugs and puppies here, that's for sure.'  
  
Ignoring her friends' cries to stop, pushing her way past a waitress ('Are they really waitresses? Or are they bartenders?'), she made her way outside into the cool night air. She drew a deep, relaxing breath, the chill of the air making her nose red. Breathing a sigh of relief, she started to make her way home until she heard sounds of a struggle in the alleyway next to her.  
  
'Great, great . . . slaying. Just what I need to make my day complete.'  
  
Running towards the alley, Buffy stood with her hands on her hips, cockily. Two vampires were hovering over their helpless (and unconscious) victim.  
  
"I'm here for the party."  
  
She watched as both of the vampires turned, befuddled.  
  
"Weren't you expecting me? I thought my invitation just got lost in the mail . . . no matter," she quipped, hauling one of the vampires off of the ground and slamming him against the wall, "I brought gifts."  
  
The other vampire rushed towards her, and she dodged to the side. Spinning on her heels, she turned to face him, landing a punch square on his jaw and sending him sprawling. Grabbing a stake from her jacket, she knelt over him, plunging the wood into his chest with a satisfying 'thwump'.  
  
'One down, one to . . .'  
  
Buffy turned around to face her opponent, only to find that he had vanished.  
  
"Go?" she finished aloud. "Hey, where'd you go?" She ran to the end of the alley to find it empty, to her dismay. "Come on, I wasn't finished yet! I need to work out some more tension!" Her lip stuck out in a pout, as she made her way back down the alley.  
  
"Spoilsport . . ." she grumbled.  
  
Spotting the figure crumpled on the ground, Buffy ran over to the victim, worried.  
  
'Please don't be dead . . .'  
  
Rolling the person onto their back, her eyes widened in shock as she recognized the person in front of her.  
  
"Spike? Spike!"  
  
She shook his shoulders roughly, in hopes of waking him up. He groaned a bit, but didn't move, so she started to slap his face lightly.  
  
"Spike, wake up! Come on!"  
  
Her hand raised to slap his cheek again and he caught it, rubbing the side of his face gingerly.  
  
"God, Slayer, what'd you do to me?"  
  
Buffy smiled wide with relief, resisting the urge to hug him.  
  
"I-I was just trying to wake you up."  
  
He sat up slightly, moaning in pain. "That's not what I was talkin' 'bout, luv. I mean this bump on my head. What did I do to deserve it?"  
  
Her heart sped up at the accusation, and she couldn't help but feel a bit insulted.  
  
"I didn't, I wouldn't! Well, maybe I would, but . . . I found you this way. I was leaving the Bronze and these vampires were hovering over you all menacing. I thought that you were their victim or something."  
  
"Right, right . . ." he touched the lump on his head warily, wincing with pain. "I remember now. Buggers jumped me, right after I left."  
  
"Spike," Buffy sighed, "what did I tell you about starting bar fights?"  
  
"Bar fights?!" Spike said, his voice tinged with frustration. "Didn't start any fight, Slayer. Why is your first reaction to go off and accuse a fellow like that? It hurts, it does." He touched his head again. "Though not as much as bein' nailed in the head with a crowbar."  
  
Her brow furrowed in thought.  
  
"Well . . . they must have had some reason for attacking you like that. I mean, people don't usually tend to attack someone for no reason. Maybe they thought you were someone else . . ."  
  
"No, no, they couldn't have. They called me by name, called me into the alley."  
  
Buffy snorted in laughter. "And you just followed them? What are you, stupid? That's the oldest trick in the book."  
  
"I didn't see 'em, Slayer. I . . . I thought it was you."  
  
This caused her to chuckle again, despite the situation. "What, those two -male- vampires sounded just like me?"  
  
"Well . . ." his eyebrow raised and a devilish smile grew on his face. "You do have that masculine voice of yours."  
  
She blushed furiously. "What?! No, I don't! Hmm . . . now that you mention it, it is more manly than yours. What with the snotty accent and the 'pip-pip's and 'cheerio's. Didn't anyone ever tell you Brits that Cheerios is a breakfast cereal?"  
  
"Snotty?" Spike scoffed. "Right, I'm snotty. Real upper-classman, that's me to a T."  
  
Buffy smiled wickedly. "Hey, not all of us can be poets like you, William."  
  
His eyes widened and he clamped a clammy hand over her mouth. "Don't ever call me that, Slayer. And I -wasn't- a poet, you understand? You'd do best to forget about that little . . . incident we had."  
  
"Why not?" she asked, pushing his hand away and smirking.  
  
"Because . . ." he said, his eyes glinting evilly, "if you say a word about that to anyone, I'm going to let it slip about that box you have stored under your bed."  
  
She gasped loudly, smacking him on the shoulder. "How-what-I-were you going through my things?!"  
  
"Cannot tell a lie," he said, smiling widely, "I needed blackmail material in case you ever decided to reveal my . . . past to the public. S'good payback."  
  
"If I'd known that you knew about that, I wouldn't have stopped to save your sorry ass."  
  
"Hey, I can't help it! You know I can't fight back; I'm as harmless as a kitten up a tree!" Spike shrugged, a melancholy expression on his face.  
  
"Harmless, yeah . . . Can you imagine how many baddies would get their hands on you if they found that out?"  
  
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The vampire made his way into the room, worried. It would have been better to have let the Slayer stake him; his death would have been less painful this way. He was almost positive that she was going to kill him.  
  
He'd failed her.  
  
Entering the large room, he glanced up at the woman standing before him.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"I - I . . . the Slayer. She found us and she . . . she got Marcus. I had to leave, or she was going to kill me, too. I needed to get the information back to you that we . . . we didn't succeed."  
  
"What is to be done, I wonder? To bring him back to me?"  
  
"We could . . . we could go back and get him. When he's at his crypt or when . . . when she won't be around. I won't fail again."  
  
She smiled slightly. "No, you won't." With a wave of her delicate hand, two minions were at her side. The vampire's eyes widened with fear.  
  
"Tie him up . . . I'll play with him later."  
  
Trailing her fingers over his face, she smiled slightly. "You have a good idea, though . . . I will find him. I will go and I will find him."  
  
Drusilla turned to her minions, her eyes filled with wicked glee.  
  
"I will bring my dark knight home."  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	18. Marie Antoinette

Disclaimers: This isn't mine. None of it . . . sob.  
  
Feedback: Hell yeah! Just don't flame.  
  
Author's Note: Yes! I have over 200 reviews! And I thought this day would never come . . . Anyway, to those who are worrying about this whole Drusilla thing, don't. It'll be okay, I promise, not *too* much wacko rambling; I think there was more than enough this season. I've actually written the rest of the story, but have yet to post it because I like to see you suffer. Evil, that's what I is, evil.  
  
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"I'm just saying, maybe you were too hard on her."  
  
Buffy entered the house and listened to the tense (and rather loud) conversation in the living room. She immediately recognized the voices to be those of Willow and Xander. Deciding that she'd rather not get into an argument at the moment, Buffy snuck up the stairs and into her room. Slipping her coat off and onto the floor, she lay down on her bed, snuggling into the comforters contentedly. However, to her dismay, she could still hear the conversation that was taking place downstairs.  
  
"She was dancing with -Spike-! Don't tell me that isn't at least a 6 on the weirdness factor."  
  
That was Xander's voice, most definitely.  
  
"He's evil, and he's soulless, and they're not exactly friends of the dancing persuasion. I just think something fishy is going on."  
  
"Well, okay, so they're not best friends or anything . . ." Willow countered, "But it's not like Spike's some huge threat anymore. He can't attack anyone -"  
  
"Or so he claims," Xander scoffed.  
  
"They did a spell, Xander, a truth spell. I already told you that . . . and if he could hurt anyone, I'm pretty sure he would've gotten to the killing already."  
  
"Who's to say he hasn't? Not all spells go perfectly; I know from experience."  
  
"Okay, let's say he isn't harmless, just for arguments sake," Willow said, sounding a bit flustered, "What are we supposed to do about it? Barge into his . . . wherever he lives, and confront him?"  
  
"I'd say a good staking's in order."  
  
"Xander, you know we can't do that. You have no proof other than your . . . your stupid feeling that Spike's lying. If you take into account the whole not biting me, you, or anyone else; your theory is kinda blown out of the water. And why are you so livid about this anyway?" Willow stopped, sounding suspicious. "You weren't like this before . . . until tonight! Oh, oh, you're jealous!"  
  
"J-jealous? Of that bleach-head? Ha! Don't make me laugh!" Xander stuttered.  
  
"You are!" Willow said, "You're jealous that Buffy was dancing with him!"  
  
"No! It's just that . . . I don't . . ." he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "Okay, maybe a little. BUT," he added, "I probably would've been jealous seeing Buffy dance like that with -any- guy. The fact that it was Spike just worsens the whole situation. Them dancing together . . . it's just wrong." He seemed to shudder internally at the thought. "She shouldn't be that close to her arch-nemesis without some punching being involved."  
  
"I agree that the . . . thing we saw tonight at the Bronze was weird," Willow said, "but it's not -that- strange. I mean, okay, yeah, Spike did try to kill us all at one point or another, but he's . . . different now. He can't hurt anything. And we don't spend every waking moment with Buffy . . . maybe they bonded when we weren't around. I mean, remember that time when we came home and Buffy had untied Spike?"  
  
"How could I forget?" Xander said, sounding exasperated, "I had nightmares about it for a week? I come in, make some comment, and he stands up and rips my throat out. I hope it's not one of those prophetic dreams," he mused.  
  
"Maybe there's nothing more to Buffy and Spike dancing than . . . just dancing. I mean, it's her birthday, and if she wants to get her groove on, who are we to stop her?"  
  
"Yeah . . ." Xander said, sounding a tad guilty, "Maybe I should apologize to her when she gets here." He paused, thinking. "Why did we come here anyway, Wills? How do we know that she's not at the dorm?"  
  
Willow sighed. "I guess we don't. But what's more comforting than home? I know that whenever I get into an argument, the first place I tend to go is Buffys house."  
  
Xander raised a questioning eyebrow at her, and she shrugged.  
  
"What can I say? Joyce makes a mean cup of cocoa. I just . . . I figured she would be the same way."  
  
"Wow, you really know me well," Buffy said, heading down the stairs to greet her friends. She had decided it was time to make her presence known.  
  
"Buffy!" Willow exclaimed, surprised.  
  
"Hey, Buff, we were just talking about you," Xander said, attempting to look nonchalant.  
  
"I know," she said, entering the living room. Xander looked nervous, and Buffy had to suppress the urge to grin. 'Let him worry,' she thought, 'he was such an ass over at the Bronze that he deserves a little . . . discomfort.'  
  
"Er . . . umm . . . how long were you up there?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, say . . ." she pretended to look at her watch. "About ten minutes."  
  
"Wow, you must have been really quiet," Willow piped up, "we were here for about an, um, an hour waiting for you."  
  
"You don't say," Buffy replied, her voice cool and distant. She set a stony glare on Xander, and he started to fidget under her gaze.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice laced with remorse (as well as more than a touch of anxiousness), "I didn't mean to make such a . . . to cause a scene over at the Bronze. It's your party and you can dance if you want to."  
  
"Well, thank you Xander, for giving me permission," Buffy said, "Can I cry if I want to, too?"  
  
"Huh?" he asked, confused.  
  
Buffy shook her head. "Lame joke, never mind."  
  
Willow, the silent observer, decided she'd better speak up.  
  
"I'm sorry too, Buffy, we don't mean to get all . . . fussy at you. It's just that we were all worried about your little dance-a-thon with the living dead. Sorry if we ruined your party," she added in a small voice.  
  
Guilt washed over Buffy as she realized that she really wasn't mad anymore, at either of them. 'They planned the party in the first place, and I guess they were just trying to look out for me. Willow was right; they don't know the situation so they can't possibly know how to react to something like that. I mean, how would I have felt had I seen Willow dancing with Spike?' Buffy was surprised to realize that, not only would she be more than a little shocked, but also at the moment, the thought made her . . . this couldn't be right . . . jealous!  
  
Buffy felt like smacking herself upside the head, just to gain some clarity. 'Come on, Buffy, the -thought- of Spike dancing with another girl makes you jealous? That's pathetic.'  
  
"Um, Buffy?" Willow asked, confused.  
  
Upon realization that her friends were staring at her, Buffys thoughts snapped back to the matter at hand.  
  
"Oh, right, sorry," she muttered, suddenly feeling very aware of herself, "Consider it forgotten."  
  
Xander visibly relaxed, and Willow gave her a beaming smile.  
  
"I'm sorry, Buffy," she said, giving her friend a hug.  
  
"I'm sorry, too," she responded, "You were only concerned and you -did- plan the whole party thing for me."  
  
"Hey, don't forget me," Xander piped up, "I helped, too."  
  
She released Willow from her grip and smiled at him. "You don't get a hug, but you do get a Buffy patented grin."  
  
"Oh," Xander said, "I guess I'll just take my presents back, then," he joked.  
  
"Nu-uh, you already gave them to me, so they're officially mine. You'll have to pry them out of my cold, dead hands."  
  
Xander grinned, cracking his knuckles threateningly. "Zat can be arranged," he said in a horrible Russian accent.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes, turning her attention to Willow. "Soooo," she said, ignoring Xander's attempts at humor, "Do we have cake?"  
  
"Double chocolate," Willow said, smiling.  
  
"I got it!" Xander cried out, and both girls looked at him, confused.  
  
"Uh, the joke . . . Buffys joke, I got it."  
  
"Great, and in only . . . five minutes," Buffy joked, "Wow, your best time ever."  
  
Willow walked to the kitchen, picking up a plastic-wrapped cake that looked absolutely delectable. "And she said: 'Let them eat cake!'"  
  
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Spike sat in his crypt, thinking. It had been weird, what had happened that night. Interesting, no doubt, but strange.  
  
'Buffy dancing with me . . . getting jumped in the alley . . . all adding up to one unforgettable day. Unless I get whacked on the head again, and in that case . . . goodbye Spike, hello William the Bloody Vegetable. And what -was- that little Spike-bashing trip about? I mean, I'm all for a spot of violence now and then, but not when I'm the one getting whacked over the head with a sodding crowbar! I can't even fight back, and that's not fair! At least when I used to munch on humans, they could at least put up a fight. Yeah, not very well, but they didn't get these bloody shocks whenever they . . . s'just not fair. At least shoulda let me have a running start.'  
  
The door slammed open and Spike was jolted from his thoughts, standing up abruptly. 'Buffy's back?'  
  
He watched nervously as a large group of vampire entered his crypt. Two, three, four . . . he counted the number in his head, and estimated about six total . . . and more kept coming.  
  
"Let me guess . . . no running start?"  
  
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TBC . . . 


	19. Burn

Disclaimers: Could I please get BtVS for a Christmas gift? Pretty, pretty please?  
  
Feedback: Oui, sil vous plait! Thanks for all the great comments.  
  
Author's Note: 'Hiya gang, and welcome to another installment of: The Spike and Buffy Show! He's a bleached bloodsucker, she's a bitchy Slayer, and together they're wacky as hell. He loves her so; she just doesn't know, but something 'bout him rings her bell. It's the Spike and Buffy . . . the we love Spuffy, the Spike and Buffy sho-o-o-w!' Erm . . . yeah, just ignore that. Emily, to answer your question, the last chapter was called 'Marie Antoinette' because of Willow's line: "And she said: let them eat cake" (or something to that measure). Honestly, I thought I was being clever . . . too vague, I guess. All right, to recap, I left you guys at a cliffhanger. Again. It's mean, I know, but it has to be done. Well, not really, but I like doing it. I'm a tease, I am.  
  
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Buffy walked down the cemetery's muddy path, her steps light to match her mood. Her heart was pounding in anticipation, an idiotic grin plastered on her face. She knew that she shouldn't be that excited, that it wasn't that big a deal.  
  
'But it is!' she thought 'It's patrolling. Okay, so I do that every day, but I've never patrolled with Spike before! I mean, yeah, he can't hurt any demons or dust any vamps, but he's there for . . . moral support. When he offered to go patrolling with me, what was I supposed to say? No? Besides, 4 out of 5 Slayer recommend it, so it has to be good. Maybe if some of them had had more support, they wouldn't have ended up so . . . dead. And, yeah, I died, but I didn't -stay- that way; and that's what's important, right?'  
  
A massive crypt loomed before her, and Buffy stopped in her tracks. She knew that it was Spike's place; there was no doubt in her mind. She lifted her leg to kick the door in, but paused, and lowered it.  
  
'I think he's earned this.'  
  
Knocking on the door gently, Buffy waited patiently to be let in. And waited. After a few minutes had passed, she knocked again, this time faster and more impatient than before. Realizing that he wasn't going to open the door for her, Buffy frowned with frustration.  
  
"Spike, I'm coming in!" she hollered, slamming it open with a swift kick. A loud "crack" boomed throughout the residence, as the cement of the door splintered from the abuse it had received.  
  
Buffy scanned the crypt, finding it empty. Her mood soured; she wasn't in the mood for games. "Oh, Spike, look at the poor, little door, she called out with mock sorrow, "I must have kicked it too hard. And if you don't stop playing hide-and-seek, I just might have to do that to your face."  
  
She waited, hands on hips, for a reply; she was tired of messing around. When none came, a small tinge of worry mixed in with her anger, as she searched the room to find him.  
  
"Spike, where are you? Look this isn't funny; I wasn't kidding around when I said that door thing earlier! Fine, I'll just have to go patrolling without you." She turned to leave when something in the dusty recliner next to her caught her eye. A familiar leather duster was draped over the chair.  
  
'His duster? Why would Spike leave his duster? He never goes anywhere without it; it's like his security blanket or something.'  
  
Buffy started to walk over to it when she nearly tripped over a coffee table lying on the floor. It had been knocked over from its original position (she doubted that Spike kept it on its side); the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach grew considerably. Stepping over the table, her boots crunched on something on the floor. Bending over, Buffy picked up the ceramic shards that were littering the ground. She wrinkled her nose in disgust when she found that they were covered in a sticky red fluid . . . blood. Rubbing the liquid from some of the shards, she read the words printed there. One piece said: "Kiss the" and the others fit together to spell: "librarian".  
  
'Giles' mug? Spike must have taken it from his house when he left. But why would it be on the floor, and . . .'  
  
A puddle of blood was cooling on the floor, and she dipped her finger into what she figured were remnants of Spikes dinner. It was still warm.  
  
'I don't like this . . . Spike wouldn't make a patrolling date and just leave without saying anything. The duster, the table, the mug . . . it's all so suspicious. Something's wrong here . . . and I'm gonna find out what.'  
  
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Spike groaned, shifting around on his bed in an attempt to find a comfortable position. He had had that dream again, where the vampires come into his crypt and attack him, and because of it he hadn't slept well all night. Besides that, he had a pounding headache. He rolled onto his back, surprised when the chill of concrete met his exposed flesh. 'Did I fall off the bed again?' he wondered, slowly opening his weary eyes. Various machines of all kinds, surrounded by scraps of metal, met his gaze.  
  
He sat bolt upright from the floor once he realized where he was. The factory. 'It wasn't a dream . . . 'twas a dream that it was a dream. Wish I could keep these things straight.' The memories of that night came rushing back to him, and he cringed. They had come into his crypt, when he was nice and relaxed, 6 or 7 of them. He had tried to make a run for it, but they had caught him, having the advantage of strength in numbers. He struggled, they bashed him over the head again, and then . . . 'I woke up here'.  
  
Glancing around the room, her noticed that it was empty. 'Maybe I can escape,' he thought, although he wasn't too eager to find out what they would do if they caught him in the act. Standing up quickly, he started to walk away . . . but found himself being pulled back. Tugging at his hands and legs, he realized that he had been chained to the wall.  
  
'Why didn't I notice that before? Guess you could chalk it up to the massive head wound I've got . . . they could've least tried to hit a -different- spot this time,' he thought, touching the bump on his skull gingerly. When he put his hand back down, he noticed that his fingers were red and sticky with blood. 'It's a wonder I even know my own name right now . . . coulda got internal damage or whatnot.'  
  
Sitting back down on the concrete, Spike resigned himself to the fact that he would, indeed, be forced to wait it out for the time being . . . until whoever it was that was holding him hostage decided to make their presence known.  
  
He didn't have to wait long.  
  
A door to his right opened with a creak, and he turned his head to watch as vampires started filing in. A lump formed in his throat as he sat, waiting for them to finish so he could accurately judge the number he would be facing. The door finally shut, and Spike's eyes trailed over the bodies in the room. Six . . . ten . . . twelve . . . maybe twenty or so total, all of them minions, it seemed. Being a master vampire, he knew power when he saw it; there wasn't enough power in the lot of them to fill a thimble. He couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed that fledglings had taken him down. William the Bloody, 120-year-old vampire and ex-Scourge of Europe . . . reduced to a sniveling waste of a demon with a nasty headache. How quickly things change.  
  
The minions stood about, fixing and sorting things, talking amongst themselves. Watching them with a wary eye, he tried to catch a glimpse of what it was they were fussing over, trying to judge exactly how much danger he was in. They seemed oblivious to his presence, working quickly to prepare -something- for their master. Spike sighed inwardly, feeling a twinge of longing.  
  
'I was like that, once . . . dozens of followers that wanted nothing but to fulfill my every whim, on their knees to serve me. ME, a master vampire. I was feared and respected by all that I came across . . . now I can't even strike fear in the heart of a sodding kitten. So here's a question that begs answering: who would want me? Pathetic, worthless shell of a demon that can't hurt a bloody fly . . . One of those military gits, maybe, but a vampire? Makes no sense.'  
  
A hushed reverence fell over the crowd of vampires as their master entered the room. They stood aside as she walked by, parting the like the sea itself. Spike watched from the floor, trying to get a better look at who it was . . . if he would even recognize her. He caught a glimpse of long, brunette hair, and a strange feeling of familiarity washed over him.  
  
'That looks like . . .'  
  
"Drusilla," he whispered, his strength lost at the mere sight of her.  
  
Pushing her minions from her path, she walked over to him, her steps graceful. Clapping her hands, she signaled for her followers to leave the room. Panicked relief swept over Spike; he knew that she wouldn't kill him . . . for now . . . but she probably wouldn't be too happy to find out what he'd been doing for the past few months. Not happy at all.  
  
"Spike," she replied in the lilting tone he had grown so accustomed to. Lowering herself to her knees, she kneeled in front of him, taking his face in her cold, bony hands. He shuddered inwardly, and pulled himself from her touch. Frowning, Drusilla grabbed his hands in hers, pressing them to her bosom. "You were lost," she continued, peering up at him, "I was searching for you. Following the signs."  
  
"Signs, yes," he murmured, gazing into the muddy blackness of her eyes, "Gotta have signs. W-here were you, all of this time? Looking for me?" He watched her press his hands closer to her chest, as if she wanted to pull him in with her, making them one. Spike forced himself not to pull away, although his hands ached from her grip. He didn't want to upset her.  
  
"All the kingdom was lost for want of . . . a knight," she said, her eyes glazed over, "My black knight, my prince. The stars told me you were lost; they don't lie, as is accustomed. Pixies whispered things to me, about you, about everything. They told me to find you, to come for you . . . you were need me."  
  
"Actually, um," he cleared his throat, "yes. I-I do need you. Very, very badly."  
  
Her eyes shone with happiness at his words, and he couldn't help but feel the smallest pang of guilt.  
  
"But," Spike continued, "I can't be with you unless you, uh, untie me. Could you do that for your d-dark prince?" His nervousness caused him to stutter, his lies evident.  
  
Drusilla's eyes narrowed, and she pulled away. "You're lying," she uttered, her voice cold, "They were right . . . told me all, I didn't listen, but I heard . . . the signs pointing me to . . . to -her-."  
  
His stomach jumped up to his throat at the realization that she knew everything. 'Ludicrous, me thinking that she wouldn't know. She always knew my secrets, even if I tried to hide 'em.'  
  
"I'm here to reclaim you." She stated it as if it were fact. "They told me to reclaim you, make you love me again, make you come home." Drusilla looked at him, her eyes pleading. "Come home."  
  
He sighed loudly. "I can't, pet," he said, trying his best to sound remorseful, "This -is- home. Not the factory, of course, but Sunnydale. I've lived here too long just to . . . I've got a cushy place in the cemetery, I've got friends - well, acquaintances, really - and I've got things to do. Not that I wouldn't love to go with you, but I just . . . can't."  
  
She pulled away from him, turning so he was facing her backside.  
  
"You can't because you love her."  
  
"That's not the only reason, luv," he said, trying to calm her.  
  
"I can fix it," she said, her voice suddenly filled with hope. Spikes heart sunk to the bottom of his chest; this definitely wasn't something he wanted to hear.  
  
"F-fix it how?" he asked, although he was dreading the answer.  
  
"I can make it better . . . rid you of that thing you feel for her. I can." Turning back to him, he noticed she was holding a small, clear bottle filled with water. Holy water.  
  
"I can burn it out."  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	20. Ruin

Disclaimers: I wanted 'Buffy' for Christmas . . . but instead, I got a pony. Dammit.  
  
Feedback: Well . . . that was also on my wishlist.  
  
Author's Note: Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay. I know, it was really cruel, what with the cliffhanger and all. I figured that I ought to post another chapter, seeing as I'm going on vacation in two days, and that I won't be able to post again until early January. Hope everyone had a great X-mas, or Hanukkah, or Ramadan, or whatever. Just read.  
  
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Buffy threw open the door with a bang, wincing at the sound of wood cracking.  
  
'I hope that's fixable,' she thought, examining the long crack in the thick oak panel. Entering the dorm room, she searched the premises for a familiar face. 'Come on, Willow, where are you?'  
  
Setting the black duster on her lap, she reached for the telephone, picking it up and cradling it between her shoulder and ear. She listened to the drone of the dial-tone, gazing down at the familiar jacket, running her fingers down the worn leather forlornly. Looking at the duster, her thoughts went immediately to Spike. 'I hope he's alright . . . he probably just lost track of time, but . . . something doesn't feel right.' The scent of cigarettes wafted throughout the room, and it took her a minute to realize where it was coming from.  
  
'The duster . . .' Setting the phone back on it's cradle, she picked the jacket up, and brought it up to her face slowly. Inhaling deeply, the smell of cheap liquor and old cigarettes pervaded her senses. Buffy smiled. 'It even smells like him.'  
  
She was so fixiated on the duster that she didn't even notice when the door opened.  
  
"Umm, Buffy?"  
  
Swerving her head around, she saw Willow standing behind her, looking confused.  
  
"Whatcha doing?"  
  
"Me? Uh, I'm, uh," Buffy stammered, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." She shot Willow a grin that was far too large and toothy, before she realized that she was still fingering the duster in her hands. Buffy chuckled embarrassedly, tossing it on her bed. She stood up and wiped her palms on her jeans, walking over to close the door. When Willow looked at her questioningly, Buffy explained, "Privacy. You know those drunken college students, always, umm, listening into private conversations."  
  
"Riiiight," Willow said, setting down her things and sitting on her bed. She turned to Buffy, smiling weakly. "So, what's up?"  
  
"Have you seen Spike?" She blurted out, her cheeks turning rosy. 'Oh, right, sound a little more obvious, why don't you?'  
  
Willow's smile faltered. "Spike? I wasn't exactly hanging out at the bars or something . . . not that Spike is a drunk or something," she covered, "I just - why do you want to know? Did he do something?"  
  
"Nah," Buffy sighed, grabbing a pillow from her bed and hugging it close to her, "I . . . we had this, um, thing set up where we were going to go patrolling tonight. I came to his crypt, and - funny thing - he wasn't there. Now I don't know if he just forgot, but . . . it wasn't just that he was gone. There was this table knocked over, and . . ." Buffy racked her brain to remember all of the things that she had seen in the crypt that night. "Oh! There was a mug! A, um, mug of blood that was on the floor, cracked and broken. And get this - the blood was spilled all over the floor."  
  
"Buffy? Just because Spike is a lousy housekeeper doesn't mean that there's a reason to get all panicky. I mean, it's not exactly the shock you might think it is."  
  
Buffy cast her expression downward, embarrassed. It was a weak reason to be worried, she knew, but still . . .  
  
"That's not all, Will," she continued, "His duster was there, too, just sitting on a chair."  
  
Willow's smile faded, her eyebrows knitting with concern. "Hmm . . . that's kinda weird. He goes everywhere with that thing. It's like his -"  
  
"Security blanket," Buffy finished, excitedly, "I know! Everything was just so fishy. The whole situation stunk of fish."  
  
"So what are we supposed to do about it? I mean, if something really is . . . going on?" Willow asked.  
  
"Well that's where you come in," Buffy explained, "and this." She lifted the duster from the bed, handing it to the Wiccan.  
  
"I need you to do a spell for me."  
  
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He didn't mind torture, honestly.  
  
It could be fun, used during sex . . . there was nothing wrong with a little S&M here and there, doled out evenly. Being a vampire, he enjoyed bloodplay. Whips and chains . . . he was expert in the stuff. But this . . . this was -torture-.  
  
"Dru, love," he wheezed, wincing when his bonds rubbed against the open wounds covering his chest, "Could we break for a while? Maybe . . . take a breather?"  
  
He chuckled dryly at the unintended pun. 'Vampire . . . needs a breather. God, that was bloody weak.'  
  
Drusilla had her back turned to him, sifting though the various instruments of torture piled before her. He didn't have to see her face to know she was smiling. She loved it when they begged, he remembered.  
  
"Naughty puppy," she growled, turning to face him. He cringed inwardly when he saw the sharp dagger she was holding. She hadn't used that one, yet. "Mummy's not nearly finished."  
  
She fell to her hands and knees, crawling over towards him like a lion stalking it's prey. Drusilla watched him through heavily-lidded eyes, smiling sexily. She made her way to his limp, bloody body, lifting her skirts and straddling him. Her fingers played on his chest, tickling the unmarred skin but causing him to wince in pain whenever her long nails dug into his wounds. Rising the dagger from the floor, she gently tickled him with the cold, sharp edge, pressing lightly enough as to not draw blood.  
  
"We've been playing for near an hour now," she continued, watching the knife as it traced the marks on his torso, "The sun has set but the children have yet to be called in. The headmistress allows them to continue their games. They sing songs, with their sweet, little voices, like Ring Around the Rosy and London Bridges. Dancing in circles and holding hands."  
  
Spike, had he not been in such a situation, would have rolled his eyes. He hated it when she did this, rambling on about nonsense; it was quite irratating. Part of him wished that she would just dust him and get it over with. Running the knife over his battered torso, her eyes grew foggy and distant.  
  
"London Bridges, falling down, falling down, falling down," she singsonged, "London Bridges falling down -"  
  
"For the love of God, Dru, shut up!" Spike shouted, mustering up as much strength as he could, "Leave the songs to the kiddies, okay!? I'm already being tortured, you don't need to add to my pain by singing that . . . crap!"  
  
He was breathing heavily, feeling slightly triumphant.  
  
She fell silent, and Spike's unbeating heart leapt to his throat. Drusilla was most dangerous when she was upset, he knew this from experience.  
  
"Pet," Spike pleaded, hoping to calm her, "I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, luv, I adore your singing. Please, I just -"  
  
His voice caught in his throat when she lifted her head, her demon visage shifted into place. Her yellow eyes were watery, but her mouth was a thin line, her expression stoic. He shouldn't have let his frustration worm it's way to the surface, he was sure of that now. 'Stupid, stupid vampire,' he chastised himself.  
  
"You used to love our songs," she pouted, "You used to beg me to seranade you, and we would dance . . . dance underneath the stars. -Our- stars."  
  
"Dru, I-"  
  
"The stars are dying," she cut him off, "She is killing them. I need to get them back, Spike, I need them . . . they need you, too. It's too dim without them . . . too dark. Everything is dark," she finished, her voice thick with emotion.  
  
"I didn't mean to upset you, pet," Spike said, "The stars are still there."  
  
"You're lying," she said, her voice seething, "I need to make you feel it again. I need to reclaim you."  
  
She bent down, lowering her mouth to his neck. She sucked on it lightly, fangs grazing the unmarred surface, before she bit into the sensative flesh. Spike gasped in pain, clenching his eyes shut. No one had marked him for . . . centuries; he had lost track of time, it had been so long. The demon in him was howling with rage, but his heart sank. 'It's a show of dominance . . .' he thought, and then, 'I've forgotten how much this hurts'.  
  
He listened as Drusilla lapped up his blood, moaning with pleasure. She finally withdrew her fangs, a smile on her face, and pressed her lips against his with force. He ignored the kiss, but couldn't help but taste his blood on her lips. She eventually pulled away from him, and Spike found himself licking his lips. It repulsed him, but the urge to feed was great. Her minions had prevented him from eating his evening meal, so it had been a day since he had last drank anything. She smiled at him lazily, then shifted over to the other side of his neck.  
  
Spike's eyes widened in surprise; he had hoped that she would have been sated the first time. 'Apparently not,' he thought without humour. She bit into him again, deeper this time, and Spike realized that her goal now wasn't to feed, but rather to scar him. 'Claim her territory . . . can't she just piss on me or something? Would hurt a hell of a lot less.'  
  
Drusilla pulled away quickly, but the smile on her face had vanished. She collapsed to the floor, holding her head and moaning. "No," she gasped. She stilled, then got to her feet quickly. Clapping her hands together twice, minions flooded into the room. Spike noticed a few of them murmuring and pointing, some of the males grinning and chuckling at him. He did his best to give them his deadliest glare . . . although he knew he wasn't very threatening when he was shackled to the floor.  
  
"She is going to ruin it," Drusilla whined, "The Slayer is going to wreck my beautiful plan . . . all of the work. She cannot." She faced the fledglings, her voice deadly serious, "Stop her. Use whatever means . . . she cannot have him back."  
  
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To be continued . . . 


	21. Kittenless poker

Disclaimers: Joss is God. I merely worship his creations.  
  
Feedback: I really do enjoy it all . . . except I got this really weird flame the other day about why B/Xers suck and that I suck and it makes no sense . . . go check it out!  
  
Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long to update. I'm lazy, that's my only excuse . . . my crippling laziness.  
  
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Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, picking at her fingernails, waiting for Willow to finish the spell. Impatient, she turned to watch her friend sitting on the bed next to her, in deep concentration.  
  
"Are you almost finished?" she asked, quieting her tone when she realized how harsh she sounded, "I'm getting nervous." When she didn't respond, Buffy added, "Spike could be dead by now."  
  
Willow opened her eyes and glared at Buffy. "I'm working on it . . . it doesn't help me go any faster when you're breathing down my neck."  
  
Buffy cast her gaze to the comforter in front of her, embarrassed. "Sorry," she said meekly.  
  
"Now, shush," Willow scolded, closing her eyes once more. The map in front of her lay still, and Buffy couldn't help but wonder if maybe the Wiccan was doing something wrong. 'Shouldn't the lights flicker or her eyes go all black or something? Or is that white?' she wondered, 'Not that I'm a pro at this or anything. Maybe I should have -'  
  
"Aha!"  
  
Willow's sudden proclamation startled the Slayer from her thoughts, and she hurried over to the other side of the room to see what her friend was 'Aha- ing' about. Willow was seated on the bed, looking at the map triumphantly. A single pinprick of light stood out among the carefully drawn streets of Sunnydale, and Buffy stared at it, confused.  
  
"What's that?" she asked.  
  
Willow glanced over at her and back to the map. "You asked me to find Spike, so, I found him. See that?" she pointed to the little light in the far right corner, "That's his exact location. At least we know he's in Sunnydale."  
  
Buffy leaned over the paper to get a better look, squinting to make out the names of the roads. "Hmm . . ." she said, "It looks like he's in the . . . business district." She paused, thinking. "That's odd, I don't think I've ever seen Spike in the - the Factory!" she finished with a gasp, her face suddenly pale.  
  
"The Factory?" Willow stared at the roads surrounding the twinkling light and wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Why is he there? Isn't that place kinda filled with bad Drusilla vibes?"  
  
"It is," Buffy admitted, biting her lower lip in worry, "This definitely doesn't feel right, Will." She paused, her mind flashing back to the previous night's events. "Shit!" she whispered, and Willow looked over at her, nervously.  
  
"Buffy, what -"  
  
"I should have remembered," Buffy chided herself, cutting Willow off mid- sentence, "I should have . . ." she drifted off, then addressed her friend. "Spike. Last night, at the Bronze, he was attacked. When I was leaving I saw these two vamps dragging him off . . . they had knocked him unconscious."  
  
"It could have just been a bar fight," Willow offered, hoping to qualm Buffy's fears, "Spike isn't exactly the most . . . amiable person when he's drunk."  
  
"No, I - he wasn't drunk. And it wasn't just a fight . . . I'm pretty sure . . . because otherwise they would've just beaten him up. But they didn't. They were trying to take him somewhere."  
  
"The Factory?" Willow wondered aloud.  
  
Buffy's heart leapt to her throat and firmly lodged itself there, her pulse racing. "Something bad's going on here, Will," Buffy said, her voice tinged with worry and regret, "and I'm not going to stand by and let it happen."  
  
She stood up, making her way to the chest underneath her bed and opened it, removing a few stakes and a crossbow. Sticking the weapons into the jacket she had pulled on, Buffy opened the door quickly and strode out, a determined look on her face.  
  
Willow peeked her head out of the room, worried. "Where are you going?" she asked the retreating Slayer, although she already knew what the answer would be.  
  
"The Factory," she called out over her shoulder. Buffy stormed down the halls of the dormitory, fuming. 'If they laid one finger on him,' she thought, 'I'm going to rip their throats out, one by one. Nobody hurts my boyfriend and gets away with it.'  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
Spike watched as Drusilla heated a poker over a bonfire in the middle of the room, humming happily as she rotated the pole for even heat. Absentmindedly he wondered if having an open fire in the middle of a crowded, highly flammable area was such a good idea, but he shrugged the thought off. One of her many minions had undoubtedly made it for her, knowing that, while it wasn't a very smart idea to make flames in the middle of the floor, it would be even stupider to disobey one of their Sire's orders. He watched drowsily as the flames licked at her face, and the embers popped a glowed, a few sparks landing on her skirts and dying.  
  
'I hope the chit burns to death,' he thought with sudden malice, and the picture of a burning Drusilla filled his head. Spike chuckled humorlessly, wishing that he could just go back two years ago and tell Buffy to stake Dru, after all. 'Would save me a boatload of pain and anguish,' he thought, 'and singing. That damn singing.'  
  
His weary eyes flicked over to the row of torture implements, neatly polished and shined for her pleasure. There were several vials of sorts, some filled with liquids he had yet to try out on him. Others were familiar, such as the near-empty bottle of holy water and the large can labeled 'gasoline', which Spike figured was less for torture and more for starting bonfires in the middle of the room. There were pokers and daggers, the used ones stained with him blood and the new ones cleaned and sharpened to perfection. Chains and nails (there were the only weapons left rusty), a staple gun (now -that- was a new one), and several boxes of matches.  
  
'She always did love burning things,' he thought, 'What was it that the fire reminded her of? Oh, dancing. Can't get enough of the dancing.' He brushed his gaze over to the pile of whips lying in the far corner, none of which had been used on him yet. A particularly nasty one with nine knotted tails caught his eye, and Spike hoped now, more than ever, that Drusilla would have a change of heart. That, or catch on fire.  
  
He was -really- hoping for the latter.  
  
Drusilla had apparently finished with the preparations, because she started to approach him with the poker, glowing orange from heat. Her eyes shone in gleeful anticipation, and she held the red-hot weapon in front of her as if it were something precious.  
  
Spike's heart gave a leap of joy when she fell to her knees, and watched with relief as the poker fell on the floor and rolled underneath a table. Drusilla moaned, pressing her fingers into the sides of her head, obviously having another vision. He watched her tensely, knowing that she would be seeing something about Buffy, more likely that not. 'If Dru's minions have done anything to her,' Spike thought, 'I'll stake the bloody bitch myself.'  
  
"Ooo," she groaned, swaying from side to side, "Wicked girls are playing where they shouldn't go. The headmistress will be very firm with them if they don't watch for the crossing . . . the headmaster will arrive and will take back what is rightfully his."  
  
Spike shook his head, confused. 'I guess you have to be insane to understand any of this,' he thought.  
  
"Why does he scoff the methods which played in the fields with him? The years of blood soaked china and strawberries are useless now that they have rotted. He tossed them in the cabbage patch without even thinking of the consequence." A frown creased the girl's face, her brow furrowed. Drusilla stopped her ramblings and stood, finally, and left the room. Spike's chest was tight with anticipation . . . he had to know what was happening with Buffy, or he thought he might explode.  
  
When she finally re-entered the room, he sighed with relief. "She's coming," Drusilla muttered, "to ruin the kingdom and scoff the princess. The knight will marry but the king shall be ever so cross."  
  
She made her way over to Spike, still swaying slightly on her feet. "I will stop her," she told him, smiling wickedly, "I will stop the naughty girl from taking you. I can, the stars say I can. The moon agrees wholeheartedly."  
  
"Buffy's coming?" Spike murmured, his heart swelling with anxious relief.  
  
"Oh, yes, she's coming, dear heart, but we will stop her from taking you. She won't haunt you again. The minions will prevent the rising and all will be well." Drusilla looked at him longingly, before turning back to the table of weapons. Her grin turned to a frown again.  
  
"Where did my poker go?"  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
TBC . . . 


	22. Broken

Disclaimers: Snicker . . . uh, yeah, I own Buffy . . . sure. No, wait, it was a lie! Please don't sue me!  
  
Feedback: Glad that I wasn't the only one that didn't understand the flame. Oh, and thanks for the wonderful comments.  
  
Author's Note: To help make up for my laziness, I wrote this chapter really quickly and posted it immediately. I guess I'm in one of those . . . inspired moods. Thank you, creative muse! Anyways, there is probably going to be one more chapter and an epilogue, and then the story's finished!!! Gasp! Most likely I'll end up writing a sequel, as the end is kinda a cliffhanger . . . don't wanna give too much away, and I like the direction I'm taking it. Don't know what to write in a poss. sequel, but I'm gonna try to think of something! Anyhoo, enjoy.  
  
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She ran to the business district portion of Sunnydale, hurrying as quickly as Slayer-ly possible. Buffy wasn't sure at first if she could remember the directions to the Factory, but she found her feet seemed to be carrying her of their own accord, her worry for Spike making her faster than usual and blocking out all other thoughts. All she could think of was: 'I hope he's alright', and 'I'm going to kill him if this is a joke.' The sinking feeling in her chest told her that this was no harmless prank . . . and so much had transpired between the two in the past month that Buffy was sure he wouldn't do something stupid like that anymore. Not to her, anyway.  
  
The large, decrepit brick building loomed in the distance, and Buffy sped up. She stopped right in front of it, however, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she sensed someone's presence, and Buffy's hand went into her jacket pocket, clutching a stake defensively.  
  
'Vampires,' she thought, her ears perking up to capture any sound her opponents might make, 'more than one . . . more than five . . . God, how many are there?' There was no doubt in Buffy's mind that someone had been expecting her . . . and that she had fallen into their trap. 'And I called Spike stupid for following a stranger in an alley,' she mused, 'This is almost as bad.'  
  
To her right, a pebble scattered along the pavement surrounding the factory, and Buffy swerved to catch sight of whomever had kicked the stone. A sudden movement behind her startled the Slayer, and she turned to see two vampires rushing at her. 'A distraction . . . they were trying to call my attention away from them.' Grabbing one approaching vamp by the arm, she flipped him onto the ground and plunged the stake in his heart quickly. She turned to face the other vampire, but he took her by surprise by landing a punch square in her jaw and sending her sprawling. She rolled across the cement, softening the blow, and noticed a few of the stakes go flying from her jacket and onto the street. 'Shit!'  
  
Getting to her feet quickly, Buffy pulled the vampire close to her and gave him a sharp uppercut, and then kneed him in the groin, causing him to double over in pain. Kicking the prone vamp in the back, she waited for him to fall to the pavement before flipping him over and staking him. 'Two down . . . some to go,' she thought, standing up straight and glancing around the street quickly. Her heart leapt to her throat as she noticed a group of vampires approaching her. They had been crouching in the shadows, watching her fight their companions, waiting for her to finish. She counted up the number in her head quickly, estimating her chance of winning. '  
  
Thirteen,' she thought warily, 'I'm up against thirteen vampires . . . not the best odds in the world . . .' She was only thankful that they didn't seem to be exceptionally *powerful* vampires . . . minions, if her guess was right.  
  
Reaching into her coat and retreiving the crossbow hidden their, Buffy loaded it, turning to face her opponents.  
  
'This should be interesting . . .'  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
Spike sat and watched as Drusilla stroked the doll's hair with a brush, gazing at it lovingly as a mother would a child. He was thankful that she had decided to take a break from the torturing, even if the display in front of him was nauseating enough to make him lose his lunch. That was, if he had eaten anything in the last few days.  
  
"Miss Edith," she cooed, "Our knight has been naughty . . . he has been watching her without a peep, and shan't tell us about it. Even if we beg." Her eyes took on a wicked glint, and a devlish smile crossed her face. "But I'm sure I can get it from him, if I make him scream. Would you like to see him scream, Miss Edith?"  
  
Spike swallowed. 'Looks like the intermission is over . . . time for the second act. The masochist's fantasy girl is about to 'play' again,' he thought bitterly, watching her as she set the doll down in front of him and moved to the weapons. 'And how she does love to play . . . I guess I've got Angelus to thank for that.'  
  
Something seemed to strike Drusilla as funny as she started to giggle girlishly, bouncing up and down and clapping softly. He watched as she spun around, clasping a rusty railroad spike in her hands. 'Oh, the irony. Nothing escapes this one.' Spike was so exhausted from Drusilla's efforts that he couldn't even bring himself to care about the pain she would be causing him soon. All he wanted to do was go home.  
  
"William . . . I have a gift for you," she purred, holding the spike out for him to see, "Where do you want it?"  
  
'Lodged in your brain somewhere,' he thought, but kept the comment to himself, choosing to keep his mouth shut.  
  
Drusilla watched him, sticking her lower lip out in a pouty manner. "Poor boy, don't you want to play anymore? Don't you want your princess to be happy?"  
  
Spike closed his mouth, ignoring her, focusing at the roaring fire behind her. He was thankful that at least she had chosen not to set him ablaze yet.  
  
"I'll choose for you, if you wish" she decided, walking over towards him and being careful to sidestep Miss Edith. Drusilla waved the spike over his chest as if she were deciding the best place to cause the most pain. Her hand stopped over his heart, smiling evilly. Spike's heart sunk to the bottom of his chest slowly. While staking him with metal wouldn't kill him, it would hurt like hell for a long time. He almost wished that it *were* wood. Grinning, she was about to plunge it into his chest when a minion opened the door behind them and walked in, clearing his throat.  
  
Swerving around quickly, Drusilla dropped the railroad spike to her side and scowled at the minion that had dared to interrupt her torture session.  
  
"Beg pardon, Sire," he began quietly, casting his gaze to the floor as she wandered over to him. Pulling the minion aside, he whispered to her in hushed tones. However, having vampiric hearing, Spike was able to catch what they were saying.  
  
"Madame, she's taken down ten of the others, already," the worried minion was saying, "If we don't do something soon, she's going to break her way in."  
  
"The Slayer," Drusilla hissed, "will not take my Spike away. I will see to that."  
  
Returning her attentions to the prone vampire chained to the wall, Drusilla walked over to Spike, picking up the doll that had been watching over him. "Spike," she drawled, "Watch Miss Edith for me. I have matters to attend to. The Slayer wants to play."  
  
Setting the doll into his wounded hands, she gave him a no-nonsense pat on the head, then walked out of the room. Spike waited until she was out of sight, then cocked his hand back and aimed for the roaring fire in the middle of the room. Getting just enough leverage, Spike gave a mad giggle as he watched Miss Edith land in the middle of the bonfire, the flames licking at her dress. He knew he would be paying for destroying Dru's doll when she returned from her fight. *If* she returned.  
  
Sighing, Spike laid down on the cement floor, relishing the heat coming from the crackling fire. Letting his weary eyelids dropp, Spike allowed himself to relax, let himself rest. Drusilla had tortured him badly, yes, but had done so in such a way that he wouldn't pass out, giving him no possible refuge from the blinding pain. Closing his burning eyes, he decided that a little nap wouldn't kill him . . . even if Drusilla would when she found he had turned her most prized possession to ash. He figured he deserved a little peace, if only for a moment. His head lolling to the side, Spike smiled slightly and welcomed the darkness that enveloped his senses.  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
Buffy panted, cradling one wounded arm against her chest, watching her opponent with a carefully trained eye. Sizing him up, she waited until he lunged at her, fangs bared, before she made her move. Throwing him to the ground next to her, she wrestled with him, punching the minion in the face, pleased when she heard the loud cracking of bones. Howling in pain, the vampire cupped his broken nose, failing to notice as Buffy raised the stake and pushed it down into his chest, peircing his heart and turning the vampire into ash.  
  
Getting to her feet quickly, Buffy surveyed the area, watching for more vampires to approach her. When none came, the Slayer listened closely, carefully. 'Did I kill them all?' she wondered. The fight had happened so quickly, time seemed to run together for her, and the number of vampires she had dusted escaped her. Relief swept through her as she headed for the Factory door.  
  
"Bad puppy," a familiar voice called out from behind her.  
  
Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, dread filling her system. 'Oh, God,' she thought, 'I hope this isn't who I think it is. Not today, not again.'  
  
"Trying to take him away from me. From us," she hissed out, "Isn't allowed, this lack of judgement is upsetting. You should know he isn't for you to keep."  
  
'Crap.'  
  
"Drusilla," Buffy said, turning around slowly, facing her, "How are things? Still crazy, I see. That's a shame, because you can't see this from a sane point of view. Spike isn't anyone's to keep. Anyone. And my guess is that he didn't come to you of his own accord." She shrugged. "Just a hunch."  
  
"He needs to be taught," Drusilla explained, "William needs to learn a lesson. Learn through blood . . . and pain."  
  
Buffy bristled at those words. "Good thing you've been torturing my boyfriend . . . otherwise I'd feel really bad about this." The Slayer hoisted her leg up and smashed the vampire in the face, sending the girl sprawling to the ground. "Oh, and one more thing? He really hates being called William."  
  
Drusilla rose to her feet quickly, glaring at Buffy and wiping blood from her mouth. Shrieking, she charged at her, punching Buffy in the face, then using her sharp fingernails to cut the Slayer's skin. Buffy reeled from the blow, but managed to deliver an uppercut to the girl's face. Moving to kick the vampire and send her to her knees, Buffy was caught off guard when Drusilla grabbed her foot, twisting it with deadly force. Crying out in pain, Buffy collapsed on the floor, and her opponent was on her in a second, pinning her arms to her sides.  
  
"You should have left, you should have left us," Drusilla said, her voice filled with anger, "You should have let him be happy with me. "Now I must teach you, too."  
  
Buffy struggled underneath the weight of the vampire, but she stopped when she saw the pillar of black smoke rising up from the building in front of her, her eyes widening. Drusilla must have sensed it, too, because she released the Slayer from her grasp, standing and staring at the Factory.  
  
"My Spike," she whispered, before turning and running into the building. Buffy got to her feet, then cried out in pain and landed on the pavement. 'My leg . . . she broke my leg.' Glancing up at the smoking building, tears started forming in the corner of her eyes. 'Oh, God, Spike!' For once, Buffy was hoping that Drusilla would get to him in time.  
  
That was when the building exploded.  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
It's a commonly known fact that vampires don't need to breathe to live. When a vampire sleeps, however, it is also common for him to revert to his original human actions, like breathing and snoring. Therefore, it was the tangy smell of smoke that roused Spike from his slumber. Opening his eyes lazily, he surveyed the room around him, sitting up. His eyes widened at the scene in front of him.  
  
'I was right . . . bonfires in the middle of the room? Bad idea.'  
  
The fire, it seemed, had spread, as he believed it might. Flames had moved across the room, catching many of the flammable things on fire, filling the room with a blinding black smoke. Judging from the amount of damage done to the Factory, the fire must have spread quickly, very quickly. Spike struggled at the chains, tugging at the bonds that held him in a desperate escape to flee from the terrible flames. He grinned in victory when he felt one of the rusty chains break from his efforts, snapping under the pressure of his pulls. Now able to move more freely, Spike worked at the other manacle attached to his wrist, picking at the old lock that kept it together. Finally snapping it open with his free hand, he turned to leave. 'I'm going to make it.'  
  
Spike watched in horror as the fire reached the vials on the weapons table. Reached the can of gasoline. Enveloped it with flames.  
  
He wondered if he would die, after all.  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
TBC . . . 


	23. Good

Disclaimers: Yeah, I'm Joss. What, I really am! Why doesn't anyone believe me when I tell them that?!  
  
Feedback: I honestly do read every comment left on my story; I write for the readers.  
  
Author's note: Well, this is the last chapter . . . then there's the epilogue. Make sure to read that; it's vital to the sequel I will eventually be writing. Don't read the epilogue, you'll probably be a bit confused later on.  
  
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She lay on the ground, breathing heavily, the waves of heat from the burning building in front of her blasting her face. Sitting up, Buffy stared at the Factory, at the flames enveloping it, choking the air with black smoke. The tears that had been gathering at the corners of her eyes began to overflow in a salty stream, running down her face and dripping onto the pavement.  
  
"Spike," she whispered, staring ahead into space, at nothing in particular. Dropping her head between her knees, Buffy pounded at the pavement with her hands. "Spike!" she screamed out into the night sky, her emotions overwhelming her, wrenched at her anguished heart. "You can't do this to me," she howled, "You can't leave me like this! I just, I - I . . ."  
  
Buffy broke down in loud, racking sobs that permeated the air. "I love you," she murmured to herself, "And I never got to tell you that."  
  
"Tell me what, luv?"  
  
She stared at the figure that approached her from the shadows, partially hidden by the thick smoke that was enveloping the premises. Blinking in disbelief, her eyes widened when she saw who it was. Spike, walking with a noticable limp and dragging heavy chains behind him, his shirt tattered and torn, various bloody wounds covering his body. He looked like death itself.  
  
And she had never been happier to see him in her entire life.  
  
Buffy found herself crying even harder, sobbing with relief. Spike's eyebrows drew together in concern, and he rushed over to her. "Don't cry, pet," he cooed, "It's over, you're okay, everything's fine. You'll be fine."  
  
Gazing into his eyes, Buffy threw her arms around him, hugging his body close to hers. "Spike, you're alive!" she sobbed "You-you're alive, you didn't burn, you didn't . . . I was so worried, I thought that I'd lost you! H-how did you -"  
  
Spike winced as the Slayer gripped him even harder, but ignored his painful wounds. "If there's one good thing about being a vampire, it's the speed. I broke free of my bonds and got to the door right as the place blew sky high. Smashed me up a bit, a little worse for wear, but no major bodily organs missing." Sitting back on the ground, he pulled her away gently. "Basically I'm fine, luv, but what about you? You seem to have gotten some nasty bumps yourself." Glancing down at her broken leg, he frowned. "Leg looks broken . . . you need to get to a hospital. I'm gonna go find a phone so I can -"  
  
"No!" she cried out, "I mean . . . I don't want you to leave. I . . ." Buffy trailed off, blushing.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked, confused.  
  
"I - I don't want to lose you again," she whispered.  
  
His eyes softened. "Buffy . . ."  
  
"For the past two weeks, ever since you told me that we should seperate, I . . . you're the only thing I could think about," she explained, wiping tears from her eyes, "Whatever I was doing, or who I was talking to . . . you were always in the back of my mind." She chuckled. "I even forgot my own birthday, if you can believe that. But I have been thinking about me, and you, and how . . . 'us' might not be such a bad thing." Spike stared at her in disbelief, but she continued.  
  
"Even though I had been thinking about you, I didn't really . . . I wasn't sure of my own feelings. I knew that I cared for you, but I wasn't sure how much. If I was really willing to settle down in another vampire relationship, especially since my last one was so . . ." she drifted off, thinking, trying to put her emotions into words. "So I didn't know how I felt . . . until tonight. When I thought of someone hurting you, I just got so -angry-. I wanted to inflict the most violent death on that person possible. And when I thought that you died . . . I couldn't bear it. The thought of never seeing you again, never feeling you or smelling your cigarettes or, hell, even arguing with you! I couldn't bear it . . . and I realized something. Something important. And now that I'm finally being honest with myself, I think that I should be honest with you, too."  
  
She gazed longingly into his eyes. "Spike . . . I love you," she whispered.  
  
Spike felt his heart leap to his throat; he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Buffy -"  
  
She pressed a finger to his cracked lips, moving to him. "No talking," she murmured, "Just kissing." Wrapping her arms around him, she met his lips with hers, giving him a sweet, chaste kiss. Pulling him to her, she kissed him again; passionately, this time. Exploring her warm mouth with his tongue, Spike's surroundings seemed to melt away into nothingness, and all he could think about was Buffy. Finally she pulled away, panting heavily.  
  
"Need to breathe," she explained. Spike looked over at the wounded Slayer and felt as if his heart would burst; he hadn't been this happy in a long while.  
  
"Buffy," he said softly, "you have no idea how much you mean to me. How much -this- means to me. And if you give me a chance to be with you, *really* be with you, heart and soul . . . I'll show you just how much love I have to give."  
  
Buffy arched an eyebrow in amusement. "So, I see how it is now," she accused, "You're just tired of having only yourself to love every night, huh, Spike?"  
  
The tender moment ruined, Spike snorted mockingly. "Yeah, well, at least I don't keep that . . . -box- under my bed."  
  
She gasped, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "There will be no blackmailing," Buffy warned, "Or there will be no kissing."  
  
Spike shrugged. "Fine, fine by me. I'll never bring it up again." He paused, thinking. "However, you could have told me that you had *another* Mr. Pointy."  
  
"Worried about your competition?" Buffy teased, "I can see why. Still, you obviously get the better deal in our relationship."  
  
"How do you wager?"  
  
"Well, let's see. When you have me as your girlfriend, you get the whole Slayer package. Protection, strength, stamina, shiny blonde hair and a winning smile. When I have you as my boyfriend," she continued, "What do I get? Vulnerable," she pointed at his various wounds and burns, "emotional baggage, bad reputation, unknown past, and, hey, let's not forget that crazy ex of yours."  
  
"Speaking of ex," Spike piped up, "what happened to Drusilla? Did you dust her?"  
  
"No . . . she ran back into the Factory. Did you happen to see her by any chance? Tall, dark hair, stark raving mad?"  
  
"No," he replied, suddenly worried, "I didn't see her."  
  
Buffy smiled. "So, she got blown up. Good for her; it's a definite improvement."  
  
"I can still beat you on this past-relationship thing hands down," Spike said, changing the subject, "Yeah, I may be disreputable, but at least I don't have what you do. Angel." He spoke the name as if it were something dirty. "You're not going to tell me that if the Poof ever comes back to Sunnydale for a visit, and you know he will, he's not going to try to ream me a new one for being involved with his ex-pet? Hardly. So let's see you beat that one, Slayer," he challenged.  
  
She sat back on the concrete, thinking, at a loss for words. Finally, she piped up, a sheepish look on her face, "Oh, hey, my leg's starting to hurt again. I think you should probably go call an ambulance now, huh?"  
  
It was Spike's turn to roll his eyes.  
  
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =  
  
  
  
THE END 


	24. Epilogue

Disclaimers: Not mine.  
  
Feedback: Hell, yeah!  
  
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Meanwhile, somewhere in Sunnydale . . .  
  
Drusilla sat on the bench, shivering and shaking, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself. She had seen it, what was going to happen, yet she still hadn't prepared herself for the devestating loss she had suffered.  
  
'My sweet William,' she thought, 'has gone to the pastures with his maiden. But the milk will sour with the scent of ashes.'  
  
Cool, salty tears ran down her pale cheeks and onto her old-fashioned dress, and she ran her fists across her face in a childlike manner. Hugging herself closer, the pale girl sighed, wallowing in her misery.  
  
'I am alone. Grandmummy is gone, and the knight is lost . . .' her thoughts trailed off as the vampire sensed a familiar presence, one that reeked of home, of death and torture and pain and blood. It was lovely.  
  
"My Angel?" she whispered, her voice filled with a hushed awe.  
  
The tall, muscular man stepped out of the shadows, a wicked glint in his amber eyes. He approached Drusilla, moving fluidly and gracefully, like a lion stalking it's prey. He stroked her raven curls with one rough palm, entwining the silky strands around his fingers and grinning when his Childe whimpered and leaned into his touch.  
  
"That's right," he purred, "I'm back."  
  
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Author's Note: So that's it, folks, that's all she wrote . . . for this story, at least. Wow, I can't believe I'm finished. What a long, mild ride it's been . . . and I've enjoyed every minute of it. If you wanna sequel, just holler. Hope you liked the story, despite it's many flaws, and thank you for taking your time to read it all. 


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